It is Our Choices
by ChoCedric
Summary: A blinding bolt of realization rocketed through him, and in that instant, his mind was made up. Harry Potter had chosen. "Welll done," said the Sorting Hat, with true respect in its tone. Its brim opened, and the word it yelled altered the course of many lives, and set Harry's path toward his destiny into motion. "SLYTHERIN!"
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Author's Note: Hello, and welcome to my new story. It is true that I am working on several different stories right now, but I assure you that they will all be worked on in equal amounts. This one is a huge inspiration for me.

I have seen many other fics of this nature, so I know it's been done before. But I hope to offer a unique perspective on the idea, and I strive to make it different from all the others.

Please let me know what you think.

It is Our Choices

By: ChoCedric

As the Sorting Hat settled over Harry's head, he was extremely glad it covered his eyes. For one blessed moment, he could pretend the entire school wasn't staring at him in rapture, all muttering beneath their breaths. Never in his life had he felt so vulnerable and exposed, not even when his teachers in primary school accused him of wrongdoing due to Dudley's lies. When Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon screamed at him, he was humiliated and ashamed, but this was an entirely new experience, and one which made his hands sweat and his heart pound.

The trip to Hogwarts had truly been amazing, and he had met some very interesting people along the way. Ron Weasley was someone he'd definitely like to get to know better; he had been one of the first people to really want to socialize with him. However, he had found it disconcerting when he had marveled over the lightning-bolt scar that marred his forehead, but Harry was willing to look past it, even though he felt a little nettled at the awe being shown to him. After all, he remembered nothing about that fateful night except the high, cold laugh and flash of green light that showed up in his nightmares. Why was he being praised and exalted for living while his parents had died?

But he was still willing to offer Ron a chance, and when he pondered it some more, he realized how much better friendship with Ron would be than with Draco Malfoy, another boy he spoke with that day. When he'd met him at Madam Malkin's Robe Shop, the other boy gave off an impression of smug superiority, and it reminded him uncannily of Dudley, who had given him nothing but bullying and grief over the years. The impression had only been reinforced on the train, when Malfoy had said outright that Ron was a waste of space, and that he could teach Harry to make better friends. The dislike Harry felt towards Malfoy was instant, and he knew now that it was mutual.

And now, in the Great Hall, the atmosphere was one of great anticipation. His name was being whispered in reverent tones from many of its occupants, and Harry was completely overwhelmed. The words of his Uncle Vernon flitted through his mind: Lazy, spoiled, good-for-nothing freak. You'll never amount to anything. You'll never get anywhere in life, you little brat. Go to your cupboard and stay there, see if I care.

Beyond anything in the world, Harry wanted to prove himself. He wanted to show that he was more than the skinny, unwanted waif of the Dursley family, whose clothes were too big for him and who had no real family or friends to call his own. And he didn't want to be the hero of the wizarding world either, some Dark Lord killer who parents told their children about in their bedtime stories. If he was going to make it in this new world, he was going to create his own legacy. He was going to be his own person.

"Oh, my, what do we have here?" Spoke a voice in his ear, and Harry's mouth opened in shock. Before he could say anything out loud, however, the hat continued, "Yes, I am speaking to you, but no one else can hear our conversation. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"This world is so strange," Harry said in his mind, hoping that the hat would be able to respond.

Harry heard a deep, resounding chuckle. "Indeed," the hat replied. "Many a person who has worn me has said the same. I admit, it must be rather odd."

The hat went silent for a minute, and Harry felt a very peculiar sensation. It felt as though his mind was being sifted through, and his thoughts were being examined. Memories were tossed to and fro like a stormy sea, and Harry had a hard time keeping up with them.

Finally, when the sensation ended, the voice returned. "Hmm," it said, and Harry could hear true wonder in its voice. "Difficult, very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see, and not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, and a nice thirst to prove yourself. So where do I put you?"

Harry's heart began to pound louder, and terror consumed him as the thought resounded through his mind: Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, please, not Slytherin. He recalled Hagrid's disparaging remarks towards the house, and the fact that the dark wizard who had ripped his family apart who he had apparently defeated, Lord Voldemort, had been in that house. Draco Malfoy knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would be placed in Slytherin, and indeed, he had been. He'd swaggered over to the table with an arrogant smirk the instant he was Sorted. And Harry knew his parents had been in Gryffindor; he had heard nothing but good things about the house, that they were pure and good and had been some of the best fighters against Voldemort. Harry wanted to make a name for himself, to prove himself as someone who could be trusted and be a good person.

"Are you sure, now?" asked the Sorting Hat with a note of true curiosity. "You could be great, you know, and Slytherin could help you on the way to greatness."

And at that moment, Harry felt his heart plummet into his stomach. Oh, God, he thought, and he began to shake. I knew it. I knew it all along. Of course I'd end up in Slytherin. The Dursleys' words echoed through his mind again. Hooligan. Delinquent. Worthless freak. Stupid. No good. No one will love you, no one will want you. Spoiled brat. Waste of space. "Please," he thought at the Sorting Hat, feeling as though the world was crashing down on him.

"Child, you are not any of those things you're thinking," the hat whispered to him, its voice actually sounding consoling. "I swear to you, your world is not ending. Ever since the reign of the Dark Lord, Slytherins have been maligned, misunderstood, and scorned. Society creates its own monsters, Harry Potter, but you can be the one that changes those perceptions. You have always wanted to prove yourself, I know it. You have had a hard life, but you have always strived to succeed. You can truly make a name for yourself in Slytherin. Didn't you say you wanted to defy others' expectations of you? Everyone is expecting the Golden Boy to go into Gryffindor."

The air seemed to freeze as Harry let the words of the Sorting Hat sink in. It was true; after only a minute in his mind, it knew him better than he thought anyone had before. Dread and shame flooded him at the thought of being hated again, of people muttering angry words at him and looking at him with betrayed faces. But at the same time, the hat had a point. He desperately wanted to show the world he was not the boy they expected him to be; he was sick of the expectations. He had dealt with that enough at the Dursleys, and now, it seemed as though the same thing was happening. Now, he was being idolized instead of despised, but he knew that people were constantly assessing him, judging him, searching for holes in his armor. And with a sudden, reckless surge of energy, he wanted to be the one to shatter that pedestal. A blinding bolt of clarity rocketed through him, and just like that, Harry Potter's mind was made up. He had chosen.

"Well done," said the Sorting Hat, and Harry heard true respect in its tone. "You made a good choice. Your path will be thorny and difficult, but you will have much help, and you can grow to do great things."

And then, the brim opened, and a word was shouted out, a word that would alter the course of many lives, and start Harry Potter down the path to his destiny.

"SLYTHERIN!"


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Wow, wow, wow, thank you so much for the amazing response to my first chapter of this story! I am so incredibly grateful. I hope the rest of the story lives up to your expectations.

In regards to how this story is going to unfold, I would like to say that Harry will not end up being evil. All I will say, without spoiling it for you, is that he is young and impressionable and has a lot of anger and resentment inside of him. He will make his mistakes and dabble in questionable things, but he does have a conscience, and deep down, he doesn't want to hurt anyone. He will have people to mentor him and encourage his good traits. So no, he is not going to be the next Dark Lord.

Also, there will be no Harry/Draco slash in this story. Draco will play a significant role, but the relationship will not be romantic. I have absolutely no objection to slash at all, but I just don't see it developing in this story. There might be some other romance much later on, but that's not the focus of this work.

One more thing: Right now, because of certain characters' prejudices and misconceptions, I might not portray them as being very nice. But for a fair amount of them, that will change as the story progresses. I hope you can bear with it for now.

I hope you enjoy this next installment!

Xxxxxxxxxx

As Harry took the hat off his head, the momentary feeling of recklessness and bravado that had seized him began to recede, and it vanished altogether as a deep, profound silence reverberated through the Great Hall. For all of the previous Sortings, applause had followed the hat's pronouncement, but now, you could have heard a pin drop. It was as though the world had spun off of its axis.

Oh, God, thought Harry, and all the blood seemed to drain from his face. What did I just do? What did I let the hat talk me into? Did I just completely ruin my time at Hogwarts?

He didn't know how he managed it, but somehow, as he stood up from the stool, he got the courage to look at the students and staff. What he saw made his heart plummet even further, if that was at all possible.

It was everything he had feared. Ron Weasley, who hadn't been Sorted yet, was staring at him from where he still stood waiting, a look of utter betrayal on his face. Harry tried to smile at him, but he knew it was an extremely poor effort. In response, Ron glowered at him, and his shoulders slumped. His first friendship, and it hadn't even lasted a day.

His heart clenched as he turned his eyes away from Ron and focused them on the head table, where the staff were sitting. Albus Dumbledore, who he recognized from his chocolate frog card that morning, wore an inscrutable expression on his face; Harry could not figure out what he thought, and this was disconcerting. Over the years, Harry had learned how to read people, but Dumbledore kept a shield behind his eyes which Harry could not discern. His gaze swivelled to Hagrid, who made a valiant effort to smile at him, but there was something in his eyes which made Harry's heart twist. Thinking back over the phrases Hagrid had muttered about Slytherin, Harry's stomach sank again.

"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall's sharp voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "Don't just stand there gawking. Hurry along to your table." She pointed at the table which housed the people Harry was to share many of his Hogwarts experiences with. "Your house will be something like your family," he remembered her saying, and the dread he felt mounted as he shakily began to walk towards his new table.

As his journey commenced, so did a thousand mutters and whispers. People were bending their heads together, trying to be discreet, but Harry heard little snatches of each conversation. It sounded like a thousand bees were buzzing around the hall, trying to analyze what had just occurred.

"How is he in Slytherin?"

"Maybe he's not our savior, maybe he's the next Dark Lord."

"Yeah, my mum told me to watch him very carefully."

"But he's a hero! Heroes aren't supposed to be in Slytherin!"

As the hisses and murmurs continued, Harry felt something swell up inside of him, and he recognized the feeling from a few minutes earlier when he had sat under the Sorting Hat. You said you wanted to defy expectations, a voice inside his head chimed. See how everyone expected you to be their golden Gryffindor child? So you didn't get applause. So what? Ron Weasley doesn't want to be your friend. So what? Hagrid may not like you anymore. So what? You've grown up all of your life not being liked. SO WHAT? You can show them. Show them that you're different.

With that realization, his steps quickened. The fear and doubt he felt melted away, only to be replaced by strength and purpose. I will do this, he told himself resolutely. I will do this.

As he reached the Slytherin table, a spot opened up. Unfortunately, the seat offered to him was next to none other than a smirking Draco Malfoy.

Xxx

Draco's reaction when Harry was first Sorted into Slytherin was one of shock and outrage. How could such a gormless, stupid, runty little thing end up in the most esteemed, honored house of Hogwarts? It wasn't possible. The Sorting Hat must have made an enormous mistake.

When Draco had first met the skinny, nervous boy at Madam Malkin's, he had not been at all impressed. When he'd tried to strike up a conversation, Harry seemed confused and shy. Draco's lips had curled in a sneer at the ignorance the boy was displaying, and when he brought up that oaf of a half-giant, Hagrid, Draco's disgust knew no bounds. Could the boy sink any lower than to be friends with such a monster?

And today, Draco couldn't believe his ears when he'd learned that the boy was, low and behold, Harry Potter. But as soon as he'd found out, a plan had formed in his young mind. He had no idea who had raised Potter, but whoever it had been, they had done a deplorable job. But, Draco decided, his head overflowing with ideas, he could teach Potter, train him and nurture him, show him how the wizarding world truly worked, and set him on the path towards greatness. He would let Potter know, in no uncertain terms, that befriending half-giants, paupers like the Weasel, and filthy little Mudbloods just would not do. After all, his father had always told him that being around those people corrupted you.

And, to Draco's intense fury, they had already gotten into Potter's mind. Potter had defended the Weasel, after only knowing him for several hours. Those stupid blood traitors had a house smaller than any single bathroom in Malfoy Manor, his father had told him, sneering maliciously. They kept reproducing like rabbits, and didn't have enough money to afford anything decent for their brood. Irresponsible, cowardly little scoundrels. They didn't deserve to go to Hogwarts, or to have any respect shown to them.

But now that Potter's ended up in Slytherin, thought Draco smugly as he beckoned an extremely reluctant boy to sit next to him, I can save him. The outrage and shock that had first filled him disintegrated, and a new drive replaced it. Maybe the hat saw how things should be. It saw his potential, and now he'll know the right way to behave.

In that moment, Draco swore to try and forget about the incident on the train today. What a stroke of luck this truly was, to have Harry Potter, of all people, the boy who was revered and idolized, the boy who had apparently destroyed the Dark Lord, and who had forever earned Lucius Malfoy's hatred, in Slytherin House. Draco was sure, though, that if he steered Potter down the right road, Lucius would agree that to make him his friend was the right course of action. How ironic would it be, he mused, his face stretching into a grin, if the fools that make up most of the wizarding world are entirely wrong about him? And it will be me, Draco Malfoy, who shows him the way.

"Hello, Potter," he said in a strong, confident voice as Potter slid into the seat with the air of someone who was being forced to do something very unpleasant. "Fancy seeing you here, in Slytherin."

He then looked directly into Potter's emerald eyes, and he resolved not to look away until the boy acknowledged him. On the other side of Draco sat Crabbe, with Goyle sitting beside him. Both were leering at Potter with predatory looks on their faces, searching for a sign of weakness.

Draco's intrigue increased as Potter held his gaze for an endless moment; it was not often that anyone resisted the stare of a Malfoy for this long. But Potter had a spirit that was all his own, and it enthralled Draco. But along with the intrigue, annoyance billowed inside of him. The longer it went on, the more the annoyance crystallized into anger.

Finally, Potter opened his mouth and muttered, "Malfoy."

"That's a start," Malfoy smirked, and put out his hand. "Let's try this again, shall we?" He said as he remembered the humiliating scene on the train, where Potter had rejected him for that blood traitor. For a brief instant, Draco's eyes flickered to where Weasley was still waiting to be Sorted, and he noticed the fierce glower he was sending Potter's way. Draco's smirk grew broader and more triumphant, and he continued to hold his hand out to the obstinate, rigid boy beside him.

At that moment, he saw Potter's eyes staring at Weasley too, and upon seeing his facial expression, his whole demeanor seemed to harden, something that Draco had observed several times before, and he knew he could use this to his advantage. He heard Lucius's voice in his head: "You will do very well, my son, if you watch the steps of the people around you. You are a bright, talented young man, and I demand to see you achieve your potential."

And it was then that Harry Potter turned his eyes away from the angry ones of Ronald Weasley, and stretched out his hand to meet Draco's. A surge of victory rippled through Draco's body as he shook the hand, firm and sure.

"Welcome to Slytherin, Potter."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Harry sat staring into space as name after name was announced and the Sorting continued, but his thoughts were now far from what was going on around him. He felt as though everything was spinning out of his control, and he kept making decisions that he never would have even thought possible five minutes earlier. Sitting beside him was someone who, on instinct, he had instantly developed an intolerance for, but yet, in a moment when he had felt truly desperate and vulnerable, he had gone and done the last thing he would have ever expected to do: he had shaken Draco Malfoy's hand.

What had made him do it? he pondered as McGonagall's voice rang through the Great Hall. "Weasley, Ronald!" She called out, and Harry felt a jolt go through his body as Ron walked up to the stool and placed the hat on his head. It seemed like only seconds passed before the hat's decision echoed through the hall, "GRYFFINDOR!" As the red-and-gold table erupted in cheers, Harry felt a spike of envy shoot through him. God, he wished his own life were that easy.

Oh, stop your pity party, Harry thought to himself, and his inner voice sounded like that of Aunt Petunia. Life isn't fair, and you'd better get used to it, you stupid boy. With an effort of Herculean proportions, he brought his focus back to his previous train of thought as he saw Draco still smirking at him.

Indeed, what had brought him to shake the hand of a boy who reminded him so much of his spoiled, pampered cousin? Within the past ten years, Harry had absolutely no positive memories of Dudley. He had caused him nothing but torment and misery, and had always gotten his own way no matter how outlandish his temper tantrums were. From the moment Harry had met Draco, his attitude rubbed him entirely the wrong way, especially when he had made the comment about "bullying" his father into buying him a broomstick. Lines like that had come out of Dudley's mouth more times than Harry could count, and they were burned into his memory.

As "Zabini, Blaise!" was Sorted into Slytherin and walked over to the table, Harry drew the only conclusion he could possibly come to, and he was disgusted with himself for it. Without conscious thought, his eyes wandered to the Gryffindor table where Ron Weasley was being greeted heartily by his three brothers, and with a heavy heart, he knew that was partly the reason. It went back to the thoughts that had flooded his mind during his Sorting: he was sick of being snubbed, sick of the jibes and taunts, sick of no one wanting to be his friend. As much as Malfoy's smirk grated on every last nerve, he was at least interested in him. And even though Harry suspected it wasn't for the right reasons that Draco wanted to befriend him, at least it was something. Harry wanted to be seen as strong, for a change, and it had been pure desperation that drove Harry to shake Malfoy's hand.

But he was already regretting that decision, because the look of triumph would not leave Draco's face. Harry's gaze fell to the tabletop, because he couldn't stand looking into that arrogant, aristocratic face any longer. He tried to pay attention to the activity around him. Headmaster Dumbledore was up at the front of the room, speaking to the entirety of Hogwarts.

"Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak!" he ended with a flourish, and with that, platters of every kind of food imaginable suddenly appeared on the tables. At this display of pure magic, Harry's eyes widened, and temporarily, all the negative emotion he was feeling vanished, to be replaced by awe and wonder.

"Goodness, Potter, it's only magic," sneered a girl who was sitting across from him. "You're really making a spectacle of yourself. Close your mouth, and eat your food like a proper wizard."

"Lay off him, Pansy," another girl snapped from next to her. Harry looked over at her, and he noticed that this girl's expression looked a lot more welcoming. She had brown hair and blue eyes, and was looking at him with true curiosity. "Sorry about her," she said, smiling. "My name's Daphne Greengrass. Nice to meet you."

Harry's spirits seemed to lighten a little more as he smiled a true smile for the first time since Professor McGonagall had called his name to be Sorted. "Nice to meet you too, Daphne," he said.

Harry then began piling food onto his plate, doing the best he could to ignore Pansy as she and Daphne exchanged snide remarks with each other. His stomach grumbled, and as he tucked in, the awe he felt only increased. This was truly the best meal he'd ever eaten in his entire life, sumptuous and full of flavor. Students chattered around him, and some attempted to involve him in a conversation.

As questions were asked of him, he tried to put his observation skills into action. When some students asked questions, they had a speculative gleam in their eyes which made alarm bells go off in his head, but some others seemed very genuine in their curiosity about him. Tracey Davis, a girl who had been engrossed in a discussion with Daphne, appeared to be very friendly, too.

"So, Potter," she said brightly, her brown eyes shining as she gazed at him. "When the food arrived, it looked like you hadn't seen much magic before. Who did you grow up with after ... after, well, you know," she concluded lamely, seeming to be uncomfortable finishing the statement.

It was then that many separate discussions stopped, and to Harry, it felt like he was surrounded by a sea of hungry eyes, all desiring to know the answer to this question like it was a puzzle they wanted to solve. The tension thickened around him, and his stomach knotted. Visions of the Dursleys ran through his mind, and he didn't want to answer the question. But it had been Tracey who had asked, Tracey who hadn't done it in a rude manner; she was genuinely curious.

Making another decision he knew he might regret later, but vowing not to say too much, he answered simply, "I live with my aunt and uncle. They're my mum's sister and brother-in-law, and they're Muggles." He still found the word odd to say, no matter how many times he saw it in his wizarding textbooks.

The reaction was instantaneous, and Harry was not at all surprised that the first response was from Draco. His face twisted in disgust as comprehension dawned in his gray eyes, and Harry thought the expression on his face was truly ugly. "NO WONDER you didn't know anything when we talked in Madam Malkin's," he sneered, his voice loud and venomous. Crabbe and Goyle, two goons who appeared to agree with everything Draco said, cracked their knuckles and grunted in agreement, another uncanny resemblance to the bullies who followed Dudley. "Merlin help us all, you live with FILTHY MUGGLES? That's .. that's ..."

"Diabolical?" Piped up Blaise Zabini, looking as though the universe had spun off of its axis and the sun rose in the west and set in the east. "You'll have a lot to learn."

"Yeah, Muggles know nothing," Pansy said, a scowl marring her face. "I'm so sorry you had to grow up like that." Harry stared at her; she truly sounded genuine when saying that, and it sent a jolt of alarm through him. Pansy actually felt sorry for him, and looking at the faces of others at the table, Harry's stomach flipped over. He should have never said anything; the reaction was worse than he had expected. As much as he hated the Dursleys, some of his peers were acting like Muggles were a waste of space, which was exactly how the Dursleys treated him.

"Muggles know lots of things," Harry said impulsively, unable to stand the scrutiny of those around him any longer. "Why are you talking about them like that?"

"Are you serious?" Draco gaped at him, his voice incredulous. His face cycled through several emotions before settling on complete derision. "Blaise is right," he said with the air of someone who possessed an infinite amount of wisdom and was kind enough to share it with someone much lower down on the food chain than himself. "You have an awful, awful lot to learn. And don't worry," he added, his smirk returning full-force. "I'll teach you."

"Me too," chimed Pansy, giving Draco an encouraging smile. Harry's stomach turned at this display, and he went back to his food, vowing to ignore any more discussion and questions about him.

The rest of the meal passed slowly, and true to his word, Harry didn't partake in any more talk, not even to Daphne and Tracey, who hadn't joined in with any of the derisive and derogatory comments about Muggles. Neither had Millicent Bulstrode or Theodore Nott, for that matter; neither one said much of anything. But despite the fact that they didn't participate in all of that, all Harry wanted was to finish his dinner in peace. Finally, the others stopped trying to talk to him, and focused on their own meals, but they kept shooting him looks, which Harry did his best to pretend weren't leveled at him.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, Albus Dumbledore got up to speak again. By this time, Harry was pleasantly full; the treacle tart he'd eaten for dessert was truly delightful. He was also starting to feel exhausted; the events of the day were catching up to him, and he wanted nothing more than to slip into blissful oblivion and switch his mind off.

He tried to focus on Dumbledore's speech as it echoed around him, and as he listened, one phrase snapped him to attention. "I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a very painful death," he said, with gravity in his voice.

Harry's eyes widened again at this very offhand statement, and they swiveled around the hall, extremely curious as to the school's reactions. Many, like himself, were gawking at the Headmaster, and some, especially at his table, were scowling and looking at him like he was stark raving bonkers. However, at the Gryffindor table, some were grinning like it was a joke, most notably the Weasley twins. Harry then turned his attention to the staff table, and saw some of the teachers giving Dumbledore reproachful looks as to say, why are you treating this like it's funny? One of them, who was dressed in black, was glowering at the Headmaster. He then moved his gaze to Harry, as if he had known the boy was looking at him, and his face seemed to tighten. Harry's heart jumped as the man's black eyes met his own, and his expression showed pure hate as their gazes locked. It reminded Harry of the way Uncle Vernon looked at him, and he couldn't bear it. He had no idea why, but this man truly hated him.

Violently shoving the thought out of his mind, Harry continued his perusal of the staff table. A man with an absurd turban on his head sat next to the one all in black. Harry almost met his gaze, but at the last second, the man looked away, unable to meet his eyes. A flame of annoyance erupted inside him; why couldn't people act normal around him? His stomach lurched when his eyes fell upon Hagrid, who was listening avidly to every word Dumbledore said, and unable to think about his reaction to Harry's Sorting without feeling hurt, he quickly looked away.

As Dumbledore's speech finally drew to a close and he wished everyone good night, Harry's thoughts still revolved around the incredibly strange statement about the third-floor corridor, and he didn't like the conclusion he drew. It's like he's daring us to go there, he realized as chairs scraped along the floor, signaling that his classmates were getting up. He remembered the Weasley twins' reaction, and knew that many children his age thrived on adventure. Dumbledore had phrased it in such a way as to make the students curious, and Harry, never having had much of that in his life, was not immune to the niggling curiosity. But as he recalled the looks many of the staff had given Dumbledore, he vowed that he wouldn't be tempted. He wouldn't give in and land himself in trouble. He would not jeopardize his place in this new world.

"First years! First year Slytherins, follow me!" bellowed a tall, burly boy who looked extremely intimidating. "Slytherin common room, this way! No dawdling!"

At this, Harry and his peers straightened, and hurried to fall into step with the boy. He had a badge on his robes with a large P on it, and so did the girl who walked next to him.

"They're called Prefects, Potter," Draco sneered at him as he caught him staring. "My, my, you are slow."

Harry scowled back at him, struggling not to make his own snide comment as the group began to walk away from the Great Hall.

And as Harry, along with his new pseudo-family, were frog-marched away, the most prevalent thought floating through Harry's mind was this: What on Earth have I gotten myself into? !


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Thank you for the reviews. In regards to Ron, it is true that he did have a Slytherin grandmother, and it's unfortunate that we didn't find out more about her in the story. The fact that one of my reviewers said this to me has given me a great idea, though, and I will explore it as the story goes on. The impression I got of Ron was of someone who believed the stereotypes about Slytherin, but I will be giving him more dimentions in this story. I really hope you enjoy what I end up doing with him.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Xxxxxxxxxx

Harry and his classmates silently followed the two Prefects down staircase after staircase, and many of them moved as they took the Slytherins down to their destination. Harry couldn't help the awe and wonder he felt at this experience, and he tried to ignore the glances of some of his peers, especially that of Malfoy who was looking at him with a disgusted sneer. How could Harry help it? He'd never been in a situation such as this before.

As they trekked down lower and lower, many portraits stared at them, murmuring amongst themselves. Harry heard a fair few mention his name as they gave him speculative, calculating glances. Some greeted the students out loud, especially the ones who had returned to Hogwarts after the summer.

Finally, after what seemed like an age, they arrived at a secret entrance. The male Prefect then said distinctly, "Serpent's tongue," and the entrance slid open.

When Harry stepped into the room, the first word that entered his mind to describe it was "mysterious". The room was adorned with chairs and couches, all with silver and green serpents on them. Harry knew that these were his house colors, and they gave off a very unique aura. Green lamps were hanging from the rough stone walls and ceiling, and as Harry walked over to a window and peered out of it, he could see water beneath him.

"We're under the Great Lake, Potter," Malfoy smirked at him, his condescending tone never faltering.

"I guessed as much, Malfoy," Harry retorted, once again regretting his desperate, foolhardy decision to shake Malfoy's hand. "Just because I live with Muggles doesn't mean I'm stupid."

Malfoy just sneered, and he didn't need to open his mouth for Harry to know what he was thinking.

"Yeah, Draco, lay off him for just one second, would you?" Said Theodore Nott as he joined Harry by the window. Without waiting for Draco's undoubtedly predictable response, he continued, "What do you think of the common room, Potter?"

"Um," said Harry, not expecting the question. "Uh ... it's really interesting."

"Well, it'll lose that quality after a while," said Millicent, but she couldn't help the fact that her eyes lit up as they looked around as well. "You'll be spending a lot of time in here, if you're not in class or in your dorm. This is where you come to do homework or talk to people."

She was going to continue, but just then, the teacher dressed in black who had glowered so ferociously at Harry at the feast came into the room. Everyone immediately went silent as he walked to the front of the room, and as he cut a path through the crowd, the pose he struck was terrifyingly intimidating. He did not look like a man anyone wanted to cross.

"Sit down," the man said, and even though his voice was very soft, there was an endless amount of menace in it. Every student instantly found a spot on either a couch or a chair. Unfortunately, just like at the feast, Harry was stuck next to Draco Malfoy. Pansy sat next to Harry on his other side, and Crabbe sat on the other side of Malfoy with Goyle right beside Crabbe. The other first-year Slytherins were also not far away.

"Now," said the man, his eyes roving over the students as they gazed at him in rapt attention. "For those of you who do not know, my name is Severus Snape, and I am the head of Slytherin House. I also teach Potions. If you aim to succeed here at Hogwarts, there are quite a few things you should know."

Harry did not move a muscle as Snape went over rule after rule that was to be followed in this castle, with no exceptions. Harry realized that when he said those last three words, Snape's eyes flickered to meet his, the fierce hate he'd displayed at the feast still apparent in them. Harry felt his ire rise; he'd never met the man before in his life. Why was he putting special emphasis on him? Was this because of his so-called fame? If Harry didn't know better, he would have sworn that Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia had spread their lies about what a little hooligan he was, but he knew that they wouldn't "lower themselves" to talk to "those unnatural, good-for-nothing freaks". So what had Harry ever done to him to deserve this?

Though this rankled him to no end, Harry still made every effort to listen as subjects like curfew, homework, how to maneuver around the castle, and other such matters were discussed. "You will receive your timetables in the morning," he finally said. "Now, I want all of you to go to your dormitories at once. Do. Not. Dawdle," he said in a voice that promised dire consequences if they did.

The moment the students started to get up, Theodore Nott walked over to Harry and saw the expression on his face. "I've heard he's not as bad as he seems," he whispered conspiratorially to him. "I've been told he lets us get away with stuff he won't let the other houses get away with, especially when we break rules in front of them."

Harry looked at him dubiously. He was about to reply, but a snarl of, "POTTER," from his right side stopped him in his tracks. Snape himself was storming over to him, that look of fury still plastered on his face. Nott instantly backed away, looking taken aback himself by Snape's facial expression.

"Yes, Professor?" Harry asked, feeling like a deer in the headlights despite the fact he did not understand this man one bit.

"Come with me, now," Snape growled, beginning to walk away. The Slytherins around Hary stared at the two in bewilderment as Harry instinctively followed him, not knowing what else to do. He had learned from many years of experience: never, ever disobey anyone when they speak to you in that tone of voice.

Harry and Snape left the common room, and once again Harry found himself traversing several hallways. However, this time, the walk was much shorter, and sooner than he'd like, Harry arrived at an office. Snape opened the door, and once Harry had followed him inside, he slammed it behind him.

Harry stared around the office, not doubting for a second that it belonged to this dour man in front of him. The whole room was lined with shelves, and each new one he studied seemed to contain more slimy things than the last. He stared, morbidly fascinated, but Snape's barking voice pulled him out of his reverie. "Sit down," he sneered, his black eyes gleaming maliciously. "And you will look at me when I am talking to you. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry quietly, and he obediently sat down in a chair across from Snape. With an effort, he forced himself to look at his professor.

Despite the fact that he had followed the man's instructions, Snape's expression only seemed to grow uglier as Harry's emerald eyes met his cold black ones. "Now then," he started, his voice dripping with venom, "I want to make sure that at least one thing is drilled into that skull of yours before you start getting any ideas. You will receive no special treatment here, Potter." Harry didn't think he'd ever heard his surname spat out like this before. It sounded as though Snape were expelling poison as he snarled it out. "If you came to this school expecting that, you were very, very much mistaken."

His eyes bored into Harry's, their gazes locking in a battle of wills. At the conclusion of this last statement, Harry felt anger rise up inside him. Special treatment? Special treatment? Well, if Snape didn't want to give him "special treatment" then why had he drawn attention to Harry and forced him to leave the common room in front of all the other students? Snape was a hypocrite, pure and simple. It might be negative special treatment, but it was still special treatment. Snape was achieving exactly the opposite effect of what he wanted. If Snape didn't want Harry getting "special treatment" in this school, then he should have just left him the hell alone and let him go up to his dormitory with his peers.

Harry didn't voice this thought, but the moment it escaped the confines of his mind, Snape's expression grew positively murderous. For a fleeting instant, Harry thought his teacher was going to strike him, but after a long, indefinable moment, Snape's expression went completely blank. "Back to your dorm with you, Potter, and go to bed," he snarled at him before opening the door and striding out, his black robes billowing behind him.

His mind racing, Harry quickly stood and followed his professor out the door. Even though he hated to admit it, he was somewhat relieved that the man followed him back to the secret entrance to the common room. He muttered the password, but didn't continue to follow Harry as he went inside. Harry knew that without Snape's guidance, he would have been lost; he had no idea where he was going in this castle yet.

As Harry entered the common room again, his encounter with Professor Snape whirled around his thoughts. What on Earth did the awful man have against him? Why was he treating him like this when he didn't know him from a hole in the wall? And why, in those indeterminable seconds when their eyes had locked, did it feel as though Snape had known what Harry was thinking?

But all Harry wanted now was to find his bed and sleep. It had been such an intense day, one where Harry felt as though he'd experienced every emotion known to man.

And thankfully, Theodore Nott was waiting for him, and without a word, he beckoned for Harry to follow him up to the first-year boys' dormitory.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Hello everyone. I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long. Things have been terribly busy, and I had a lot on my mind. But I have to say that I'm really happy to get back into writing. I hope this update is worth the wait.

I don't think I've mentioned him in my author's notes to this story yet, but the person who has inspired me to return to writing is my incredibly amazing boyfriend, Ryan. He is a truly wonderful person. He's not a huge Harry Potter addict like me, but I told him enough about the series that he agreed to co-author a fanfic with me. It is completed and is up on my profile page, and it's called Harry Potter and the Disco Wizards. It's a humor fic, and therefore not my usual style at all, but I had an absolute blast writing it nevertheless. Please check it out if you'd like.

Anyway, thanks so much for all your reviews. I hope you like this chapter, one from the pov of a character who we saw in the previous one and who will play an enormous role throughout this tale.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Severus Snape sat hunched over his desk in his private quarters, nursing a Firewhiskey as a million thoughts swarmed through his mind. He was not usually one to indulge in drinking; after all, he had enough bad experiences with drunkards to last a lifetime. But as he threw down the contents of his glass this evening, he realized he was unable to resist the pull towards it. But as the night wore on, he discovered that the thoughts and memories bludgeoning him would not disappear.

That boy. That wretched, vile, despicable brat of a boy ... the son of that vermin James Potter had been sorted into Slytherin. SLYTHERIN! How in the holy name of Merlin had something like this happened? It shouldn't have been possible. It went against everything in the entire universe!

But, he reflected with a snarl of mental venom, the universe enjoys playing tricks on Snivellus, doesn't it? Indeed, he felt as though the earth loved to do nothing more than kick him when he was already down. After all, it had been doing that to him since he came out of his mother's accursed womb.

For ten years, the Potions Master had utterly dreaded the day when the infernal child would take his place at Hogwarts, the child who was revered and loved by almost all of wizardkind; the child who somehow, without lifting a finger, had stopped the reign of terror that had plagued the world for so long. And Merlin, would he ever be arrogant, with notions of saving the day, glorious courage, heroism, and magnificent victory crowding his pint-sized mind. Of course, Snape had thought, bitterness suffusing his being, it would be James Potter, loud, brash, reckless, idiotic James Potter, who the entire planet seemed to worship, that would be the one to have a son who became a celebrity at fifteen months of age. All the stupid boy had done that night, the night which Severus would give even his sanity to erase out of existence, was lie in his crib, completely unaware of what was going on around him, completely unaware that his beautiful, sweet mother ...

It was when his mind reached this point that Severus violently tried to shut it down and stop it proceeding to the next part, but it never seemed to obey him. The world didn't care that an amazing, incredible, passionate young woman had given her life for him, for an infant who had done nothing for her but sleep, eat, cry, and breathe. And in return for her loving sacrifice, her son was branded a hero and she was considered nothing more than a casualty of war. It struck Severus like an axe to the gut every single time these thoughts circulated through his consciousness. Harry Potter was a household name, but his Lily, his precious Lily, would never be.

And that foolish old man, Albus Dumbledore, with that all-too-knowing, powerful gaze, only drove the axe in further as he spoke in a gentle tone to Severus. "It saddens me that you do not understand the bond between a mother and their child," he had said on numerous occasions, with true and palpable sorrow in his tone. "You resent that poor child for having such a sacrifice made for him."

There had been so many things over the years that Severus had snarled in response that he was hard pressed to remember them all. After all, what did he know of a "mother's deep, pure love for her child?" His had sat and done nothing while his father ...

Again, he had tried desperately to stop his mind from wandering down this path; there was far too much bitterness there. Instead, he would bring his mind back to his complete and utter loathing of all things containing the surname Potter. Every day, the dread mounted as the time came closer and closer for him to come face-to-face with the little delinquent. Of course, he would be in Gryffindor, and he would spend his entire Hogwarts career getting into trouble, being worshiped by the ignorant masses who would swallow up every word he said. Potter, a clone of his father with that messy hair, arrogant strut, and those eyes ... oh Merlin, those didn't bear thinking about.

Severus Snape had been absolutely positive that this day would go exactly as he pictured it. But it had all been a grand, elaborate prank on him from the beginning, hadn't it?

For one thing, when the boy entered the Great Hall, he didn't strut. There was a nervousness about him which set off alarm bells in Severus's head, alarm bells which he didn't want to heed. The reverent whispers and amazed stares that followed the boy's every move, however, were totally what Severus had expected, and his face had adopted a vicious sneer as he observed Hogwarts' reaction.

Then, Potter had put on the hat, and despite himself, Severus watched his body language as the Sorting proceeded. It seemed to take an incredibly long time, and it was obvious that the students were enraptured. Severus's bitter thoughts had increased as the seconds lengthened; leave it to Potter to manipulate the hat into a long conversation. Who cared about the other students who were waiting to enjoy a delicious Hogwarts feast? After all, Harry Potter, the hero of the wizarding world, deserved all the awe and praise heaped upon him, he thought sarcastically as the vicious snarl on his face had become even more pronounced. That imbecile, Quirrell, who was sitting next to him, shrank away from his expression with a terrified look on his face.

But then, it had all gone wrong, hadn't it? Severus's heart had done something very strange as Harry Potter's expression had suddenly hardened, a look of ... what was it? Defiant resolve? It was as though everything had fallen into place in the boy's mind, and he knew what he had to do.

And then, that damned word had been uttered, yelled out into the Great Hall, ripping the fabric of his universe into shreds.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Severus's hands shook as he poured himself another Firewhiskey. From the moment that had happened, the rest of the evening was a blur. He could barely remember the rest of the feast, even when the other teachers had tried to engage him in several conversations. He knew he had been more acerbic than usual to their inane chatter, but he couldn't have cared less. He felt Dumbledore's eyes upon him, but violently refused to pay him any attention. When he'd tried to swallow his food, it tasted like ash.

But the worst part was when he'd felt another pair of eyes upon him, and discovered that the accursed boy had the gall to look at him. There was something far too familiar in that stare, something that lit every single one of his nerves on fire, especially coming from those damnable eyes. Something which, no matter how many glasses of Firewhiskey he choked down, he just couldn't get out of his head. It had singed itself to the backs of his eyelids and refused to allow him any peace.

And that was what had pushed him, after he delivered his customary speech that he gave to the students at the beginning of every year, to drag the boy to his office and confront him. That whole display in the hall had to have been on purpose, right? Potter's wretch of a father had had a talent for manipulating people; his son had obviously inherited that Godforsaken talent. Well, Severus would show him. The boy would get away with nothing, especially now that he was in his house. And of course, it fell to him to protect the wizarding world's darling, didn't it? The Headmaster, with his powerful words and assurances that if Severus did this, he would redeem himself in the eyes of the only person who had ever given a damn about him ... the only person who he had loved with every fiber of his being ... the person who, every single day, haunted his memories, whose image never let him forgive himself for the unbelievable and terrible wrongs he had committed against her ... Dumbledore had made him promise to protect Potter to atone for his sins. So despite the feelings of constant loathing and animosity towards the boy, earning Lily's forgiveness was the only thing keeping Severus Snape still drawing breath.

But it was on days like today that the resentment was almost suffocating, rising to the surface like bile. When he'd slammed his office door and faced the boy, the reality of the situation truly came crashing down upon him with destructive force. The time had come for him to put his repentance into action, and this boy sitting across the desk from him was the key, no matter how much he despised it.

But of everything that happened today, it was during his one-on-one moment with Potter that his world had rent itself apart, and he was under the impression that had already occurred when the hat had shouted, "SLYTHERIN!" But he couldn't have been more wrong.

And it was these last few images, and the words he'd heard in the boy's mind that prevented him from any restful sleep that night. Instead, his dreams were made up of nightmarish fragments, haunting echoes that surrounded him on all sides, submerging him in a flood of feeling which drowned him from within. In the days to come, he adamantly refused to acknowledge from whose life they originated. ...

And when he did finally draw the right conclusion, his entire outlook would never be the same again. ...

... A hook-nosed, greasy-haired teenager, trying with every ounce of strength he possessed not to let the harsh words of the so-called man standing before him penetrate his mind, his black eyes full of both bitterness and wariness, always on the alert for something awful to come his way. ...

"... You are nothing but a waste of space, boy. Just because you have your filthy, vile magic doesn't make you any better than anyone else. I don't know why I even bother with you."

"Well, why do you? If I'm such a waste of space, why don't you leave me the bloody hell alone then? If I'm not that special then why continue to waste your time on me, Father?" ...

Indeed, Severus Snape had seen that same haunted, bitter look and heard those same snide, sarcastic words from someone else's lips.

And this, the Hogwarts Potions Master truly couldn't handle.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Hello everyone, and thank you so much for the reviews. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

As for it being predictable, I truly apologize if it comes off that way. I hope that if you stick with it, though, your mind changes. I have read several Slytherin Harry stories on this site, and I do plan to take mine in an original direction. I really hope it comes through the more you read.

Anyway, please enjoy!

Xxxxxxxxxx

As Harry's first morning at Hogwarts dawned, he felt well-rested for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. The previous day had been exhausting, and when he had arrived in his dormitory the night before, he had barely looked at his surroundings before practically falling into bed. Theodore Nott had tried to ask him questions about what had occurred with Snape in his office, and the other boys in the room had looked on with a curious gleam in their eyes, but Harry hadn't had much to say. All he had said was that Snape had told him not to break any rules. At this, Draco had snorted with disbelief, and the others wore a range of different expressions. Eventually, Theodore had gotten the message; Harry was tired and wanted to do nothing but rest, so he could be ready for his first day of classes.

Frankly speaking, Harry was still irate over his meeting with his Head of House. His skill of reading people was, for once, utterly failing him; he simply could not understand the man's blind hatred of him. The line about "special treatment" kept resounding in his head, and he thought he would explode with anger if he kept pondering on that.

As the boys began the morning routine of getting ready, Harry considered the circumstances he was now in. He had never shared a room with anyone before; after all, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would never allow him to occupy one with their precious Diddy Dumkins, who was a spoiled brat above all spoiled brats. Harry's cupboard could barely fit one person inside it, and of course, that had been his bedroom until the Dursleys, paralyzed with fear at all the unnatural, freakish letters their nephew was getting, let him have Dudley's second bedroom. So, for him, sharing a room was a brand new experience.

And, God, wy did one of his roommates have to be Draco Malfoy, and why did the stupid, smug idiot have to choose the bed directly next to his? It was true that when Harry and Theodore had ascended the stairs to the Slytherin dorms, Malfoy, Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle had already been in the room, but they had situated their beds so that there was an empty one on either side of Malfoy. This meant that no matter where Harry decided to sleep, he'd end up with Malfoy on one side of him. The blond had thought of this as the sweetest of victories; as Harry had gotten ready for bed, Malfoy just wouldn't stop smirking at him. It was completely infuriating, and it drove Harry insane.

As the boys headed down to the common room to go to breakfast, they kept glancing at him as they exchanged idle chatter. The speculative looks they were giving him rubbed him the wrong way. The only one out of the group who was gazing at him with any modicum of decency was Theodore Nott, but even his stare screamed curiosity. Why were they all looking at him as though he were some fascinating specimen that was never discovered on the planet before?

Of course, Harry surmised bitterly, it must be the stupid fame thing, his supposed defeat of some big bad that all witches and wizards feared to speak. He remembered how Hagrid had shuddered in revulsion as he had grudgingly uttered the name Voldemort, and it reminded him eerily of his oh-so-loving, amazing family, who would only speak his name when it couldn't be avoided. In all other circumstances, it would be a simple "boy", "freak", or, in many a case, "you spoiled, ungrateful whelp". They treated him like a bomb that was about to go off.

Sick and tired of the continuous and obsessive staring, Harry's gaze swept around the group, and as they proceeded to trek down the stairs, he barked out defensively, "What?"

This seemed to unnerve some of them. Crabbe and Goyle instantly looked away, and Theodore's gaze fell to the ground. But neither Zabini nor Malfoy seemed cowed; on the other hand, their gazes grew more focused. Malfoy's smirk returned, and he said, "Oh, nothing. Just wondering how you're adapting to Hogwarts."

"It's fine," Harry said shortly, not elaborating any further. He knew precisely what Malfoy was doing, he and Zabini both - they were once again looking for weaknesses so they could pounce on them.

"No need to be so standoffish, Potter," Zabini sneered at him. "You may have learned that habit from those pathetic Muggles, but you're in a different place now."

"Yeah," grunted Crabbe, his face contorting into a sneer as well. "Muggles are so dumb."

"Oh, shut up," snapped Theodore. "How long are you going to harp on about that?"

"Oh goodness, so you're suddenly a Muggle-lover now, are you?" Malfoy said malevolently. "How low have you sunk?"

Harry's face went blank then, and he tried to ignore the taunts and jibes that surrounded him as they reached the common room. He cursed himself for not obeying his gut instinct the night before; what on Earth had possessed him to tell his housemates about the fact that he resided with Muggles? He flashed back to the scene in Madam Malkin's Robe Shop, where Malfoy had drawled contemptuously about witches and wizards from Muggle backgrounds. "They don't know our ways," he'd said in a nasty tone. And now, Harry would never be able to live it down.

As the group headed out of the common room and began to make their way up to the Great Hall for breakfast, they met up with the girls. Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis instantly walked over to Harry, and they were smiling at him as they reached him. The bitter feelings in him lessened slightly; these two, like Theodore and Millicent, didn't seem so bad, and appeared not to hold his past against him.

"Hello, Potter," said Daphne, her blue eyes bright and alert. "How was your first night at Hogwarts? How did you like the dormitory?"

"Hello, Daphne," Harry replied, his own eyes brightening a little. "It was all right. I went to sleep right away."

"Me too," grinned Tracey, who was at Harry's other side as they traversed the long halls. "The beds are pretty comfortable, aren't they?"

"Yeah," said Harry, truly meaning it. Sleeping in something so soft, warm, and with such an opulent blanket was completely foreign to him. "They really are."

"Daphne smiled. After a second, though, the expression faltered, and she grew serious. She looked at Harry intently. "I just wanted to warn you," she said softly, "that you might have a hard time of it in Slytherin. We have a bad reputation, and most of the school doesn't like us."

"They think we're plotting betrayal, deceit, and murder down in those evil dungeons," Tracey spat, her voice suddenly filled with venom. "But they don't know anything about us."

"They walk around with their noses in the air, looking at us like they're so superior and we're the scum of the earth," said Millicent, who had been a few paces behind them and had caught their conversation. "To them, we're less than the dirt they scrape off their shoe."

"We have some advice for you," Tracey said as she made direct eye contact with Harry. "Don't let them get to you. From the reactions last night, we can't pretend that it won't be worse than normal in your case. You're the Golden Boy who killed their Dark Lord for them, after all, and they never expected you to be Sorted into the snake house."

For Harry, this was not breaking news; he had already figured this out. After all, every single person had received applause when being Sorted; even the other first-year Slytherins had gotten some grudging acknowledgement. But all Harry had received was a profound silence as hundreds and hundreds of pairs of eyes had stared at him - probing, judging, hostile eyes that had made the child in him quake, wondering why this had to happen to him.

But as he gazed back at the three girls walking with him, his resolve hardened again, and he felt his insides go frozen and rigid with a ferocious need to prove himself. The Sorting Hat had said it inside his head, hadn't it? "A nice thirst to prove yourself," it had proclaimed, and it was true.

"I know," he answered the girls, his voice full of steely determination. "It doesn't matter what they all say."

"Good on you, Potter," said Millicent, her smile actually frightening. But this time, Harry sensed that the expression wasn't really directed at him; it was centered on the fools who underestimated Slytherin House.

"Oh, and by the way," said Daphne, "don't let Malfoy and his goons rattle you either. The way you grew up shouldn't matter. Don't listen to them."

Harry's spirits bolstered a little more at this. "Thanks," he said, appreciating her sincerity. "I won't."

"Good on you," Millicent said again, looking impressed. "With that attitude, you'll do fine."

By now, they had reached the Great Hall. As they walked in, students from the other tables immediately swiveled their gazes to the group, focusing squarely on Harry, but this time, he found it much easier to ignore them. They found some empty seats at the Slytherin table, and Harry began to gain a little more confidence as the girls settled around him. As he began to eat a sumptuous breakfast, conversation circulated around classes, professors, and what homework might be assigned. He refused to take the bait when Pansy sneered at him from across the table, and Malfoy looked sulky and put out when he discovered that Harry was not paying him any attention.

As breakfast wound down, Professor Snape made his way around the table, handing out timetables to everyone. As he reached Harry, he thrust his schedule in front of him, looking more vicious than ever as he glowered at him. For the first time, Harry couldn't care less; his new tentative relationship with the girls around him made it far easier to not let Snape rile him. He honestly didn't care what Snape's problem was; the old bat's issues meant nothing to him. He also appreciated the fact that none of the girls had inquired about Snape's conduct towards him the night before; if they were wondering about it, they kept that curiosity to themselves, and Harry was extremely grateful.

It was now time to head to their first class, Defense Against the Dark Arts. This subject truly intrigued Harry; he had read his textbook, unbeknownst to the Dursleys, and was riveted by the illustrations and knowledge on its pages. It was now his opportunity to discover what this class really entailed.

So, as they left the Great Hall and walked to their classroom, Harry was more than ready for his magical education to commence.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Hey all, and thank you for the awesome reviews. I hope you continue to enjoy this story.

Xxxxxxxxxx

To say that Defense Against the Dark Arts was a major disappointment was the understatement of the century, Harry thought with complete disgust as he and his year mates left the classroom. It had only been minutes into the lesson when Harry had developed that same sinking feeling in his stomach that had always, unfortunately, haunted his life. Hadn't he learned by now that things never went the way he wished they would go?

He had been so terribly intrigued and excited by the prospect of learning this subject; the material he had read in his textbook had looked extremely promising. But Professor Quirrell, with his peculiar turban and insanely jittery countenance, made it sound as dull as dishwater. It was pathetic; as he lectured the class about what they would be covering throughout the year, he couldn't get through a complete sentence without stuttering. He had turned a truly intriguing class into a royal joke, and despite the many times Harry told himself that this was nothing out of the ordinary, he couldn't stop the feeling that he had been utterly let down. As the group trudged out of the room and conversation buzzed around him, he was relieved to know that he wasn't the only one who had felt frustrated by the class.

"What a total buffoon," Theodore proclaimed, perusing the map each student had been given that morning as they headed to their next class, Transfiguration. "What in Merlin's name was that all about?"

"Are you really surprised, Nott?" Malfoy sneered. "He was hired by Dumbledore. My father says he's the worst Headmaster Hogwarts has ever had, and he's right. It's going to the dogs, and teachers like that are one of the many reasons."

As irritated as Harry was by Malfoy's drawl and the way he wouldn't shut up about his father, he didn't say anything to contradict him. After all, he was right about one thing; Dumbledore's choice of Defense teacher left an awful lot to be desired. When a teacher elicited derisive laughter from his students rather than focus and concentration, there was a real problem.

"And what was his deal with the way he was looking at you, Potter?" Zabini demanded, giving Harry a speculative glance. "He kept giving you funny stares through the entire lesson."

Since when do people not stare at me? Harry thought with disgust, but he couldn't help the shiver that wracked up his spine as he remembered the odd way the professor had stared at him, a stare which, strangely enough, was different from all the others he had gotten since yesterday. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about that gaze alerted every single one of his senses. "I don't know," he answered Zabini, trying to get it out of his mind.

"Never mind," said Daphne, whose eyes had been shining before the lesson, but who now looked put-out and annoyed. "He's not very smart, is he?"

"Nope," Malfoy said, his smirk back in place as he appeared to have his point proven.

"I've heard good things about McGonagall, though," said Tracey, casting Malfoy a warning look. "I don't think it's a good idea to cross her."

Malfoy said nothing, but the contemptuous glare he gave her over his shoulder said more in response to her suggestion than words ever could. Tracey only shrugged, and said nothing more on the subject.

Tracey's warning proved to be correct; she definitely had the right idea about McGonagall. She was stern and severe, but Harry found that he actually enjoyed this class. He felt his spirits lift ... this was what he had imagined magical education to be like. His mood improved further when McGonagall only glanced at him once throughout the entire class, but otherwise didn't broadcast that there was a celebrity in the room. For a fleeting instant, a wave of desire washed over him - she was the Head of Gryffindor House, and for a moment he wished for nothing more than to have gone into Gryffindor instead, and to have continued his friendship with Ron. But in the next second, he remembered his wish to defy the expectations everyone had of him, that he would be their Golden Boy, and felt his determination spring back into place. If he was going to see this through, he had to deal with the consequences of his choices.

When it came time for the practical portion of the lesson, McGonagall gave each student a matchstick, and told them to transfigure it into a needle. Unfortunately, as hard as Harry tried, he could not achieve this goal. Once again, disappointment and frustration welled up inside of him, and the voice of Aunt Petunia flitted through his mind. "You stupid child," she'd snap at him, her face pinched with anger. "Don't even bother trying, you can't do anything right."

But Harry had never stopped trying no matter how many times that statement had left the bitter woman's mouth, and he vowed that this would never change. But by the time the lesson concluded, he still hadn't succeeded, and he felt the familiar feeling of shame scald his insides. What had he done wrong? He had spoken the incantation correctly, hadn't he? Was there something wrong with his wand movements?

"Don't worry, Harry," Tracey murmured from beside him as she packed up her things. "Only Daphne was able to get it. She's lucky - I've heard barely anyone gets it right during the first lesson."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled. Tracey smiled at him, and he had to admit this made him feel slightly better. He also knew that he would keep practicing: McGonagall had assigned it for homework, after all.

What also helped was the fact that, as the Slytherins made their way to the Great Hall for lunch, Malfoy spent the entire time complaining about how that old bat's class was so difficult, no wonder he couldn't get the spell right. "How in Merlin's name could she expect us to do that on our first day?" He whined, sounding almost pitiful. Pansy, who was paying rapt attention to Malfoy's every word, nodded fervently. Harry was happy to see the arrogant jerks taken down a peg.

Lunch was a lively affair as each table partook in many different conversations about the morning's classes. Harry found himself piling food onto his plate again, and thoroughly enjoying the richness and flavor of the food. Daphne and Tracey sat on either side of him, and he would insert a comment every now and then to add to their conversation about the preceding lessons. As the meal continued, Harry looked around the rest of the room, curious as to how other students were faring.

Despite his best efforts not to do so, he found his eyes straying to the Gryffindor table more than they should. Ron Weasley was shoveling food into his mouth like it was going out of style, and the bushy-haired girl named Hermione Granger, who Harry had met on the train yesterday, was giving Ron a revolted look. His twin brothers, Fred and George, were grinning at each other and talking animatedly to a boy with dreadlocks, and he seemed to be taking great pleasure in what they were saying. Harry's gaze focused back onto Ron, and it almost felt like an involuntary action; like he'd told himself this morning, he should stop focusing on what never got a chance to be. It only drove the point home further when Ron, feeling eyes on him, turned his head to meet the stare. His face morphed into a mutinous expression as blue met with emerald green, and it was that look that brought Harry to his senses and made hinm look away.

Harry's afternoon classes were History of Magic and Herbology. To his utmost annoyance, History of Magic completely let him down again. The only interesting part of the entire lesson was the fact that Professor Binns, being a ghost, entered the classroom through a wall. The night before, when Harry had seen the ghosts in the Great Hall, he had been filled with pure awe; this was yet one more astounding thing about the magical world. But how was he to know that any ghost could be as dull and boring as the one who taught History of Magic? He had tried his best to stay awake throughout the period, but the man's monotone voice and his endless droning caused his eyes to close not of his own volition.

The class ended, and as they trekked to Herbology, Harry was subjected to another round of drawling insults from Malfoy about the substandard teaching at this school. And once again, Harry had to agree partly with what the blond boy said, no matter how much he disliked Malfoy's smug, arrogant tone. He found his opinion of Dumbledore declining; first, there had been that strange comment he had made at the Welcoming Feast about the third-floor corridor, as if he was encouraging the students to seek out danger, and today, two so-called teachers had zapped any enthusiasm out of subjects Harry was incredibly looking forward to.

But as Herbology proceeded, Harry found himself paying close attention, just as he had in Transfiguration. The Slytherins were taking this class with the Ravenclaws, and Harry was partnered up with a boy named Anthony Goldstein. Professor Sprout set them the project of studying the magical properties of many plants, including a frightening specimen called Devil's Snare.

However, once this portion of the lesson began, Harry's annoyance rose. Instead of studying the plant as Harry was doing, Anthony studied him instead, looking him up and down as though he were a magical experiment. Even though Harry had been receiving these kinds of looks throughout the past two days, he couldn't stop being royally infuriated by them. "I'm not that interesting," he finally snapped, having had enough. "It's the Devil's Snare you're supposed to be looking at."

"S-s-sorry," Anthony stammered, his cheeks glowing a ruby red color as his gaze instantly fell to the ground. From that moment on, he seemed to get the message; for the rest of the lesson, he never looked at Harry again, and for that he was grateful.

Needless to say, when the day's lessons concluded, Harry had extremely mixed feelings. Honestly, he never would have suspected that a real, live ghost could be so incredibly tedious, and a teacher who was supposed to help them defend themselves against the Dark Arts could be scared of his own shadow, but that was indeed what had come to be. But both Transfiguration and Herbology had been fascinating, and Transfiguration had also been frustratingly challenging. He had had a much different idea of what learning spells would be like; he hadn't thought it would present so much difficulty. But he wasn't going to give up, not for anything. He would prove his aunt wrong, and he would succeed.

And it was after dinner when his efforts would begin. Many of his classmates went back to the common room, but Harry itched to go to the library. Growing up, it had always been something he desired to do, but the Dursleys had discouraged any notion of it. After all, they were not going to allow him to even try to show up their precious Diddydums, and his cousin was as thick as a brick. But here, which was the last place his so-called family wanted him to be, he could do anything he wanted, and they'd never, ever know. They couldn't take his books away, scream "no meals!" At him, and lock him up in his cupboard, could they?

So, ignoring the derisive snorts of Malfoy and Parkinson when he told Tracey and Daphne where he was going, he left the Great Hall, and used his map to lead him to the library. As he walked, he found many other students in the halls too - after all, curfew was not until nine o-clock. Fred, George, and their new friend were three such people, and thankfully, they were so busy joking and laughing that they didn't notice him slip by them. After Ron's reaction to his Sorting, he didn't want to find out what theirs was.

Eventually, after much perusal of the map and assistance from several portraits who gave him appraising glances, he arrived at the library. He still found the talking portraits a little disconcerting, but they amazed him at the same time. He had had many bizarre dreams over the years, but even with an imagination like his, talking portraits would never have entered into his fantasies.

As Harry entered the library and looked around, he felt overwhelmed at the array of books that surrounded him on all sides. The librarian, a sour-faced woman who did not look at all friendly, scowled at him, but he paid her no mind. Instead, he continued to gaze avidly at the rows and rows of books. His eyes widened in wonder, and in that moment, he knew he would be spending an inordinate amount of time here. If he was going to succeed in this new world, and truly be his own person, he would have to know a lot, and he had realized today that he simply could not rely on his teachers to impart all the knowledge.

So, with determination and purpose flowing through him, he began searching through the stacks of endless books. It was time for Harry Potter to realize his potential.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Hello everyone, and thank you so much for the reviews. I'm really glad you are all enjoying the story.

In regards to Harry's studiousness, I hope you enjoy what I do with it. Since Harry is in Slytherin in this story and has new influences, there will definitely be differences. It's very true that there are endless possibilities when it comes to magic, and as the story progresses you will see where I take my path.

In regards to all Slytherins being evil, I am so sick and tired of that stereotype. Voldemort and his band of morons definitely made an awful mark on society in so many ways, including that one. I truly believe that someone in any house could be a Death Eater, because all the traits can be used for evil, including bravery.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Xxxxxxxxxx

"Excuse me, may I please sit here?"

Harry looked up sharply from the book he'd been perusing, one that explained how Transfiguration worked, to see a familiar face looking at him curiously. The boy had a book in his hand, and he looked extremely nervous as he surveyed Harry. It was Neville Longbottom, who Harry had briefly met on the train the day before, the boy who had lost his toad.

"Um, sure," Harry answered quickly, regarding the anxious boy with curiosity of his own.

"Er, thanks," said Neville, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down.

There were several moments of silence that followed, and Harry would have gone back to his book, but he could sense that the other boy was trying to muster up the courage to ask him something. He cleared his throat several times, and kept opening and closing his mouth. Finally, after several attempts, Harry decided to speak up. "What is it?" he asked, not being able to help the slight tinge of annoyance in his tone. This whole thing was becoming old, with people acting around him as though their heads were detached from their bodies.

"Uh, sorry," said Neville immediately, blushing scarlet as he shoved his hands in his pockets. His gaze flitted away from Harry's face as he blurted out, "What's it like in Slytherin?"

Oh, that, Harry thought, his annoyance growing. Neville was staring at Harry as though asking that simple question would make him get up and hex him right where he sat. "It's fine," he said evasively. "You know, I'm not about to attack you."

Neville's cheeks only grew redder in response. "I didn't mean to offend you," he squeaked in a tiny voice. "I ... I just wondered what it was like, because I've heard that ... uh ..."

Harry had had enough. He'd been a Slytherin for about twenty-four hours now, and he'd spent what felt like that entire time being bombarded with stares and whispers, most of them either hostile or curious. But it was the nervous, jittery countenance of Neville that pushed him over the edge. For a moment, he forgot that Neville had seemed this way from the moment he met him on the train. He was sick to death of people treating him like a ticking time bomb. So, without thinking, he simply reacted.

"Oh, for God's sake," he snapped, glaring at Neville. "Just talk to me normally, won't you? Yeah, yeah, I'm the famous Harry Potter and I was supposed to be in Gryffindor. I'm not going to turn out evil and start hurting everyone. What is it you think I'm going to do to you?"

"He's right, you know."

Suddenly, another voice spoke up. Neville jumped in shock,and Harry swiveled his head around to see another familiar face. Walking towards them was Hermione Granger, the rather bossy girl who had tried to help Neville locate his toad, and who had said she had memorized her textbooks.

"Close your mouth, Neville. You look ridiculous," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I think this whole house thing is complete rubbish. I think all the houses have good traits. I'm really glad I got into Gryffindor, but I wouldn't have been upset if I'd been put in any of the others."

Even though part of Harry was a little peeved at how Hermione had abruptly butted into their conversation, he felt gratitude as well. She might have been a bit rude about it, but she had spoken succinctly the exact sentiment that Harry had in his head.

When neither boy said anything in reply, Hermione continued. "My mum always told me that stereotypes aren't a good thing for our society," she said importantly. "And she's right. There have been many awful things that have happened in history because people believe something that's not true."

Slowly, Neville turned his gaze to Hermione. "My gran says the same thing," he murmured, and Harry saw shame flood his face. "It's just that ... uh ... ever since you were Sorted last night ..." He stopped, embarrassed to continue.

Hermione had no compunctions about finishing Neville's sentence for him. "Ever since then, you're the main topic of discussion," she said bluntly, looking directly at Harry. "And no one will listen to what I have to say. They keep going on and on about you being in Slytherin. I swear, they won't stop talking about it. It's driving me insane. And that Ronald ..." She let out an angry, exasperated huff. "He's the worst. And when I tried to speak to him, he told me to mind my own business. As if!" Exhaling loudly, she planted her hands on her hips, looking extremely irate.

"Great," Harry said sardonically, his spirits lowering again. He'd known how Ron felt towards him now, but hearing Hermione's confirmation of it made it feel worse. He tried to squelch the feelings; why should he care how Ron felt about him?

But he knew why he did care, didn't he? He knew all too well. It reminded him too much of the times in primary school when he would make a tentative friend, only to have that person steer clear of him once Dudley and his hooligan gang got involved. And now, Harry had come to a new world only to have it happen for a different reason. For what seemed like the thousandth time, he fleetingly wished that he'd tried to further talk the hat into putting him anywhere else. Anywhere else, but Slytherin.

But it was for only a moment, because that same part of him that had become hardened over time, the part of him that had given him the resolve to make the choice he had the night before, soon reared its head again. Stop going back and forth on this, Potter, he thought furiously, and he swore this part of his brain spoke in his uncle's sneering voice. You made your bed, now lie in it. Stop complaining and get on with it.

Hermione's voice pulled him out of his self-recrimination, and he was heartened to hear what she said. True, he had heard it from the lips of Daphne and Tracey too, but it was somehow different to hear it from someone who wasn't a Slytherin. "Don't let all the pointing and staring get to you," she said, her words firm and honest. "It doesn't matter what they say." For a moment, her brown eyes seemed to darken, and Harry got the odd feeling that the words weren't only meant for him. In the next second, however, the light seemed to return to them.

"She's right, Harry," said Neville, and there was a desperate earnestness in his face as he gazed at Harry. "Er ... I'm really sorry for what I was like with you before. My gran would be furious if she found out." He shuddered slightly, and Harry felt himself soften at the look on his face. "Um, we can be friends if you want," he said quietly. "And I'll stick up for you in Gryffindor when the others say bad stuff about you."

Harry couldn't help but be touched by the pure sincerity in Neville's manner. In all his life, Harry could never remember anyone saying that they'd stick up for him before. Some of the children at primary school would give him sympathetic looks, but in the end, they were always too scared of Dudley and his gang to stand up for him.

"Me too," agreed Hermione. "Everyone is being stupid. They'll see in the end that you're not a bad person."

"Thanks," said Harry, and his mouth curved into a smile. "I'd like to be friends too."

And indeed, he would. Hermione might be bossy and demanding, and Neville might be nervous and clumsy, but as they started to engage in a conversation about magic, their school subjects, and their teachers, Harry couldn't have cared less. As Neville spoke quietly of his appreciation for Herbology, Hermione waxed poetic about all the spells and potions she found fascinating, and Harry discussed his disappointment with Professor Quirrell's teaching style, he felt his spirits rise to new heights.

They were not talking about his fame, his Slytherin Sorting, or what his childhood was like. Instead, they were speaking like normal children did. Normal. At that thought, Harry almost laughed out loud; if only his relatives could see him now. They would scream themselves hoarse if they knew that Harry considered this "normal".

But as several companionable hours passed this way, studying together and keeping their voices down so as not to be kicked out by the glowering Madam Pince, Harry was truly happy.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Hello everyone, and a very happy new year to you all. I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday, and a great start to 2019!

Thank you all so much for the reviews. I really appreciate them all. I love your comments about Harry's friendship with Neville and Hermione.

In regards to the Ron hate, I completely understand how some of you feel about that. As a matter of fact, this chapter delves into more of the reason behind how Ron's acting, and it's not the one you might think. I think Ron has more dimentions to him, and therefore, his relationship with Harry will change as the story goes on.

I really hope you enjoy this chapter.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Neville Longbottom let out a sigh as he and Hermione headded back to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione perused her map as they went, and her face was riddled with anxiety, fretting about whether they would make it back before curfew. Neville was a little frightened, too, because he knew exactly what his gran would say if he landed himself in trouble.

As he and Hermione headed down the corridors, his mind pondered the events that had just occurred. They had both made a friend in Harry Potter, who was a Slytherin. And truth be told, Neville had never felt better about any decision he had ever made before.

Growing up, he had been told endless stories about Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and all the carnage and destruction they had caused in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds. "Many would think you are too young to hear this, and that these stories are too violent for your fragile ears," the woman had said bluntly. "But you need to understand what things were like back then. So many people made sacrifices in the war, and your parents were the prime example of bravery. They gave their well-being, their very sanity, to protect you."

All his life, Neville had had the distinct impression that Gran somewhat resented him for surviving when his precious son and daughter-in-law were as good as dead. She barely ever told him she was proud of him; in fact, she was always finding things about him to criticize. He had been through some terrifying ordeals; his relatives, especially his Great-Uncle Algie, were willing to do just about anything to force his magic to manifest. Even when it did, it was plain to see in all their eyes that he would never measure up to his parents.

His visits to St. Mungo's were always extremely depressing; his father would stare at the ceiling, singing a tuneless melody, and his mother would gaze right through him, no recognition in her eyes. The only thing he ever received from them was a bubblegum wrapper from his mother. Every time he and his gran left them in the Healers' care, she would always chastize him, telling him not to look so glum and sulky. "Buck up, young man. Be proud of what they did for you," she would say almost viciously. "And count your blessings. They're still alive."

Neville would never tell anyone this; he would gladly take the secret to his grave. But privately, he wished they could find peace through death, because who in their right mind would want to live the way that they were? As soon as those thoughts would enter his mind, however, he would feel an endless shame overwhelm him. How could their own son wish for them to die, even if it would help them find the rest they could never again receive in life?

He had also heard the stories of Harry Potter, and how he had destroyed Voldemort. His parents, unlike Neville's, had died. Yet another source of shame for Neville was the fact that he envied the boy slightly. He could mourn them purely, and cherish what they had done for him. He could go to their graves and find closure, while Neville couldn't ever truly reach that stage of mourning.

It was yesterday, however, when Neville had gained some new perspective. As he'd entered the Great Hall, he had seen the entire school's gaze focus on Harry, and Neville had been blindsided by it. Gran had told him in great detail of how the wizarding world worshiped him for defeating Voldemort, but she subscribed to the notion that it couldn't have been anything he himself had done. After all, he was only fifteen months old when it had happened. "I fail to see how nobody understands what's right in front of them," she had said crossly. "Lily, James, or both must have destroyed Voldemort before he killed them, thereby saving Harry." Neville had shuddered at the name, causing Gran to glower at him angrily. "His name is Voldemort, and it's nonsense to let a simple name scare you like that," she had snapped, and Neville had immediately stammered out an apology.

But as far as Neville assumed the worship went, he still wasn't prepared for the sheer intensity of it as Harry took his place on the stool to be Sorted. For perhaps the first time in his life, Neville didn't envy him one bit. Instead, he felt an overwhelming sense of empathy for him as the entire school scrutinized him, looking at Harry in a strangely similar way to how Neville's gran looked at him.

And then, the unexpected happened.

"SLYTHERIN!"

And that had been it, hadn't it? After that, it had never ended. The students could talk about absolutely nothing else, and even when Neville had tried to turn the conversation with his fellow Gryffindors to other subjects, it was in vain, for the conversation would always return to the fact that the beloved, famous Harry Potter had been Sorted into the House of Evil.

Another thing that Gran had always accused him of was bending too easily to pressure, and Neville, to his dismay, couldn't say she was wrong about this. This scared him, but he didn't know what to do to change it. He wanted so badly to be liked for who he was, and to fit in and make his own friends. Therefore, as the talk of slimy Slytherin had continued, doubt began to surface in his mind. Were they right about Harry not being a good person after all?

But his conscience always protested, endlessly telling him this wasn't true, and that he was doing the very thing Gran always reamed him out for. Both parts of his mind fought with each other as he'd lain awake in the Gryffindor dorm last night.

And when he'd seen Harry in the library just a few hours earlier, he had found courage inside him that he didn't think he possessed. He'd sat down across from Harry, but in clumsy, pathetic Longbottom style, he'd bungled the whole thing up, hadn't he? When Harry had snapped at him in response, Neville couldn't blame him. When Hermione had shown up with her brutal honesty, it added insult to injury, but now, he was glad for it. His conscience had been proven correct; he had been right to doubt the stereotypical belief that because of his Slytherin Sorting, Harry Potter was to be reviled. Because of one measly word, the boy's reputation had been smashed into dust.

And now, as Neville and Hermione finally reached the portrait of the Fat Lady that opened into Gryffindor Tower, he swore he would do what he had promised Harry. He, clumsy, forgetful Neville Longbottom, was desperate to change the stigma, and to redeem himself for all those years he had secretly envied the other boy. One look at Harry's face told him that his life had not been an easy one, and the fact that Harry was so grateful to have a friend made Neville's stomach flip with sympathy. He might be ridiculed by his housemates for doing this, but Neville, for what felt like the first time, honestly didn't care. He was going to do the right thing for Harry, and as he looked at Hermione, he knew he had found a staunch ally and friend in her. It was plain to see that she would help him in this endeavor, and he hoped this would make him feel even stronger.

As they arrived, Hermione gave the password to the Fat Lady, and she and Neville proceeded to walk into the common room, where a majority of the Gryffindors were still sitting. Many students were chatting with each other, and others sat doing homework. Yet more students were huddled in a corner, whispering to each other, and two of them were the Weasley twins. From the look of mischief in their twinkling eyes, Neville had no doubt they were up to something. Ron Weasley was in the huddle with his brothers; he had informed Neville earlier today of how Fred and George were the world's biggest pranksters. As Neville and Hermione watched, Percy, their older brother, was also staring at them, a disapproving frown on his face.

Hermione adopted the same look as she scrutinized the group of students. "Whatever they're up to, they'll land Gryffindor in terrible trouble," she proclaimed, looking particularly mutinous as her gaze fell on Ron. "What do you think they're up to?"

"Dunno," said Neville, and he had the distinct feeling that Hermione was going to involve herself in whatever was happening. Neville knew this wouldn't make anything better; instead, it would backfire on her in the form of rude comments and taunts of "know-it-all". But Neville knew there was no convincing her not to go through with it. He had to admit, her bossiness rankled him a bit, but he was willing to stick by her; he could tell she didn't do it out of malice.

And indeed, he was correct. Hermione planted her hands on her hips, and without preamble, went marching over to the group. Neville followed, without really knowing why. Hermione could handle herself just fine, after all.

"What are you doing?" she demanded as soon as she reached them. "Whatever it is, I know it's not right. You're going to lose Gryffindor loads of points, and it's not fair to the rest of us."

The mischievous grin on Fred's face did not falter as he said, "Oh, nothing to concern yourself with, little firstie."

"Yeah, relax. That stick up your arse must hurt a whole bunch," George snickered with a matching grin.

But Ron wasn't grinning, and unlike the twins' light and teasing tone, his was far from it. "Go away and read one of your stupid books," he snapped. "Don't you know when to stay out of someone's business?"

Neville saw Hermione's eyes flicker for a moment, and they showed real hurt. He wondered why she continued to put herself through this. But in the next second, anger replaced the hurt. "Don't you dare talk to me that way, Ronald Weasley," she said coldly. "I've truly had enough of you."

Ron snorted, looking even more surly than before. "Well, you're not the only one," he glared. "I've had enough of you too. I never knew anyone could be as awful as you are."

Hermione had a much harder time hiding how much Ron's words had affected her this time. As Neville watched, her eyes filled with tears that she tried furiously to blink back. Before he could stop it, he found himself speaking up. "That was uncalled for, Ron," he said quietly.

Ron turned to him. "C'mon, Neville," he said imploringly. "You can't say you actually like the way she bosses us all around. She's not our mother, you know."

"Take it easy, ickle Ronniekins," said Fred, reaching out and ruffling his younger brother's red hair, causing him to scowl. "She's not that bad."

"Yeah, she can't scare us like our own mother can. That's an impossible feat," said George, grinning at Hermione.

"Don't mind our little brother," said Fred, who winked conspiratorially at Hermione. "Unlike you, who's only had it for a day, he's had a stick up his arse his entire life."

"I have NOT!" Ron yelled indignantly. This only made the twins laugh very hard.

"Lighten up, mate," said Fred. "We're only joking."

"You're right," said Lee Jordan, who was looking back and forth between the twins and Ron. "He's incredibly easy to rile, isn't he?"

"Ah, he always has been," said George with an exaggerated sigh.

"Anyway, you can relax, Hermione," said Fred with another winning smile in the girl's direction. "We're not going to get in trouble. We're too good at causing mischief to get caught in the act."

Hermione, who had done her best to recover from Ron's insults, looked at the group dubiously. "You'd better not," she told them. "We need to follow the rules."

"And that, my dear, is a habit we'll be teaching you to break," said Lee with a sweeping hand gesture. The twins burst out laughing again. Hermione put her hands on her hips again and said nothing, which only made their smiles widen.

When they'd finally calmed down, another older student named Katie Bell asked, "So how have you been enjoying Hogwarts so far?"

"I like it a lot," said Neville truthfully. No matter how inadequate he felt during his lessons, he couldn't deny that being a student filled him with wonder. After all, he had worried for so long that he was a Squib and would never get to experience a magical education.

Katie grinned. "I agree," she said. "The magic never goes away, even after you've been here for years."

"It's amazing," Hermione said, and she then dove into a monologue about the books and subjects she found the most thrilling. It didn't take long for the others in the group to lose interest in what she was saying, but Neville continued to pay attention. She deserved for someone to listen to her. The others just looked at each other, rolling their eyes.

Finally, when she had finished, Ron began discussing his favorite subject, and Neville knew he was partly doing it to annoy Hermione, although he was still serious about it as well. "I still can't believe Potter was Sorted into Slytherin," he said sullenly.

"Oh, give it a rest, Ron," said Fred in exasperation before either Hermione or Neville could open their mouths.

"Yeah, little bro. We've let it go on for this long, but there comes a point when enough is truly enough," said George. "So he's in Slytherin. Big deal."

Ron gaped at the twins, his expression so shocked that it was comical. "Big deal? Big deal?" he sputtered. "How can you just act like this is normal? He's the one that defeated You-Know-Who! How can he be a Slytherin like him?"

Hermione opened her mouth in anger, but once again, Fred beat her to it. For once, his face lost the joking expression that was so familiar on him. "You're not acting rassionally, Ron," he said very seriously. "Do you really think, after meeting and talking to him yesterday, that Harry is really a bad person?"

"Yeah, he seemed harmless to me," said George in the same tone. "If anything, he looked like he needed some good friends."

Some of the others in the huddled group were looking at the twins in utter confusion. "But everyone knows Slytherins are bad news," said Angelina Johnson. "The whole world knows that all You-Know-Who's supporters were Slytherins."

"That's not true," said Neville, his voice coming out louder than he had intended, but not caring. "Has everyone forgotten that Sirius Black was a Gryffindor?" His gaze wandered around the group, focusing especially on Ron, who refused to meet his gaze.

"And surely, Ron, your brain isn't so addled that you've forgotten the stories about Grandma," said Fred. "Dad made a point of telling us that she was a Slytherin, and she sure as hell wasn't evil."

"She was disowned from her family for marrying Grandad," George put in.

"I've always wished we got the chance to meet her," lamented Fred, truly looking sad. "She died of Dragonpox not long before we were born," he explained to the group at large.

"I know all of that," said Ron stubbornly, but Neville could see that his expression was cracking. "But Harry was supposed to be in Gryffindor." But there was no longer anger in his voice as he said that last part; instead, it was filled with longing and sadness.

"Ah," said Fred, and a sudden light of realization entered his eyes. "That's what this is really about, isn't it?"

"What?" Said Ron quietly, looking stricken.

"You don't actually think Harry's evil, do you?" Fred murmured, with no laughter in his voice at all. "You're trying to cover up the fact that you're really disappointed you two couldn't be Sorted together."

George had caught on as well. He slung a supportive arm around Ron and said softly, "From what we understand, you two were getting along really well on the train. I saw the look on your face when he was Sorted. You thought you'd be his best friend, didn't you? You were going to teach him all about the wizarding world, but then he ended up being not what you expected him to be."

"What you fail to realize, Ron," said Fred, "is that things don't have to change. You can still be friends with Harry and help him through Hogwarts. You might not be sharing classes and a dorm with him, but that doesn't mean you can't find other times to hang out."

Ron stared at the twins mutely, a wide range of expressions flitting across his pale face. From just one look at him, Neville instantly knew that the twins were onto something. They might portray themselves as two pranksters who were never serious, but it was plain to see that they knew their brother entirely too well.

Finally, Ron opened his mouth, his words almost sounding desperate. "But he shook Draco Malfoy's hand!" he protested frantically. "And Malfoy is just horrible!"

Neville remembered that moment, too, with a stark clarity. He had been staring at Harry when the handshake had occurred. Looking back on it now, he couldn't help but recall Harry's facial expression at the time. "Yeah, he did," he said quietly. "And he didn't look very happy about it."

"Think about it, Ron," said George, pounding Ron on the back as his face lightened, returning to his usual demeanor. "Give him a chance, and maybe Harry'll surprise you."

"It might just be the one thing that'll remove that stick from your arse permanently," added Fred, ruffling Ron's hair again.

Ron couldn't take it anymore. He jumped up out of his seat, his face displaying everything he was feeling. Fred and George, with insight no one thought they possessed, had spoken the complete and absolute truth. As Ron fled the common room and disappeared up to his dormitory, the twins exchanged looks of triumph, and the others, including Neville and Hermione, stared at them, speechless.

"I'll go after him," Neville said finally, getting up as well. "Good night, everyone."

"Good night," said Fred. "Go knock some sense into that stupid pillock, won't you?"

Neville smiled faintly. "I think you've started to already," he said. "But I'll keep it up."


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Xxxxxxxxxx

Harry's next few days at Hogwarts found him in lighter spirits as he maneuvered his way around his new environment. He attended many different lessons, and had mixed opinions on each one. He found Charms with Professor Flitwick engaging, even though it annoyed him when the tiny man fell out of his chair when he called his name on the roll sheet. Malfoy's smirk didn't help matters, either. But when Flitwick got to the heart of the lesson, Harry was fascinated despite himself.

However, Defense Against the Dark Arts continued to be a complete mockery of a decent class. It was clear that Professor Quirrell had absolutely no idea what on Earth he was doing, and it seemed as though he was a laughingstock amongst the students, and this went for every single house. Even more disconcerting was how Harry always felt around the man. Something about him wasn't normal, and several of his classmates continued to point out the stares Harry kept receiving from him. Harry was sure to always keep up his guard around him until he could work out this conundrum.

When it came to his classmates, he was having good luck in some areas, and bad luck in others. The reason for his better mood was due to the fact that Neville and Hermione were serious about keeping up a friendship with him, no matter what it might cost them in the eyes of their Gryffindor housemates. Every night, Harry would meet them in the library, and they would exchange anecdotes and tidbits from their day. Harry found friendship with them very interesting, because Neville and Hermione were very different in personality. Neville was soft-spoken and unsure about many things, yet Hermione seemed to know exactly the direction she wanted to go. Her bossiness could really get on Harry's nerves, and he could sense that Neville didn't quite know what to do about it either.

But in the end, it didn't matter. For the first time in his life, Harry had friends. He found himself thoroughly looking forward to the hours after dinner, where the three of them would always return to their same places in the library. Whenever it was time to head back to their houses for the night, he found himself truly disappointed, and highly anticipated the next day's meeting.

The two Gryffindors had also informed him of the goings-on that had occurred in the tower concerning Ron's feelings about him. He listened attentively, but he could honestly say that now, it didn't matter so much whether Ron wanted to be his friend or not. After all, he now had two friends who honestly appreciated his company and barely mentioned Harry's Sorting, other than when they'd given the details about Ron. Whenever his eyes fell on the Gryffindor table now, they never strayed to the youngest Weasley boy. They instead settled on Hermione and Neville; the two of them had truly taken the sting of Ron's rejection away. If Ron did want to reconsider, Harry knew he would have to think it through before he accepted. But for now, having the support of Neville and Hermione went a long way towards boosting his confidence. They helped to combat the hostility Harry still saw in the eyes of many students as he went about his days.

Where Harry had bad luck, though, was in the form of some of his dorm mates. Harry hadn't thought it was possible, but he now regretted shaking the hand of Draco Malfoy even more. Harry was so thankful that it hadn't gotten back to the arrogant blond that he had befriended two Gryffindors, because he knew he'd never hear the end of it once it did. And with the amount of spying and gossip that was rampant throughout Hogwarts, Harry knew that day was bound to come. But he was happy to prolong it for as long as possible.

Draco Malfoy never lost an opportunity to annoy Harry. It was plain that he wanted nothing more than to have him all to himself. He asked pointed questions about Harry's life with the Muggles at all hours, trying to manipulate him into agreeing that they were a waste of space. When Harry did not comply, Malfoy resorted to throwing barbs and insults. If Harry did something such as ask a question about magic that many wizards already knew the answer to, Malfoy's face would twist in contempt, and he'd make some crack about how Muggles should be wiped from existence because they were too dumb to rub two sticks together. Harry had half a mind to bark back at him that back in the old days, that was how Muggles created fires. But he would snap his mouth shut at the last minute; Malfoy wanted him to take the bait, and Harry refused to do so.

Unfortunately, Blaise Zabini often agreed with Malfoy, and Crabbe and Goyle would always yield to him, too, with big, stupid grins on their faces. The more Harry witnessed this, the more they resembled the trolls that constantly hung around Dudley, agreeing with every word he said like they didn't have minds of their own. Pansy Parkinson, the simpering fool that she was, was quick to follow in their footsteps, and it irked Harry to no end when she threw him looks of sincere pity, just like she'd done that first night when Harry explained his Muggle upbringing. He wished for the millionth time that he'd never revealed that slice of information.

But as for Theodore, Millicent, Daphne, and Tracey, they were another source of help for Harry. He honestly couldn't say they made him feel the same as Neville and Hermione, but he was grateful for their company all the same. They would often try to distract Malfoy from angering Harry too much, and they rallied around him as they went from class to class. If a student stared with anything less than civility towards Harry, they were always ready with a glare or nasty sneer.

All in all, this had been the most interesting and rewarding week Harry had ever experienced. Despite some of the less appealing aspects of Hogwarts, and despite the looks that were still being thrown his way, Harry realized that for the first time, he was enjoying his life. He could eat as much as he wanted, had access to books that seemed to contain an infinite amount of knowledge, and got to hang out with people his age who were sticking up for him and not letting what others said rule their actions.

It was now Friday morning, and Harry and his classmates were on their way to their very first Potions lesson. Truth be told, Harry was dreading it. Even after his experiences in Defense Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic, it didn't hold a candle to how he felt now. Ever since that entire scene with Snape on his first night at Hogwarts, all thoughts of enjoying Potions had completely vanished. This was a class he'd been fascinated by before, and he'd really wanted to participate init. But now, because of Snape's unjustified hatred of him in which he had no idea of the cause, all the enjoyment had been wiped clean away.

As the Slytherin first-years headed down the corridor, Malfoy swaggered ahead of the group, his usual smirk prominent on his face. "Professor Snape is my godfather," he boasted smugly, his voice louder than necessary. "He already says I'm a great potion-maker. This class should be a breeze."

Harry scowled. Now of all times, Malfoy's posturing was the last thing he wanted to hear. He sent a glare in the boy's direction, praying that for once, he would just shut up.

"That's great, Draco," Pansy simpered. "You're good at everything, so I'm sure he'll love your work. You'll do Slytherin proud."

Theodore Nott looked at Harry and rolled his eyes. Seeing Harry's mutinous expression, he whispered, "Don't let them rile you up. The class won't be that bad."

"I don't know," murmured Tracey, and she honestly looked worried for Harry. "I don't know what Snape's problem is with you. I've been watching him, and I haven't ever seen him look at a student the way he stares at you, not even the Gryffindors."

"Great," said Harry. She wasn't trying to be malicious, but what Tracey said was hardly comforting. If anything, it put him more on edge.

But then, she went on, "I'll give you the same advice I did about the rest of the school. Just try your best and don't let him get to you. Potions is a really interesting subject, and you should be able to enjoy it."

Harry nodded at her in acceptance, but the butterflies stayed in his stomach nevertheless as he trudged his way into the Potions classroom. Harry saw that many of the Gryffindors were already sitting at desks. As Harry found his way to a seat, Neville gave him a discreet nod, to which he nodded back.

Hermione, however, wasn't at all subtle. She smiled at Harry and gave him a wave. Harry felt a jolt go through his body, because he hadn't considered this when he really should have. Hermione was eager to show the entire world, without restraint, that she was friends with a Slytherin. Neville felt the same, but due to his more shy nature, he was less open about it even though he would defend Harry up and down if it came to it. But Hermione had no such compunctions, and it was now on display for all to see.

And Harry knew, as he caught Malfoy's absolutely disgusted expression from the corner of his eye, that he had seen the interaction loud and clear. But it was then that Harry felt his universe shift again, because he suddenly realized he didn't care. It was almost a rule, an unspoken one but a rule nonetheless, that Gryffindors and Slytherins would never greet each other so brazenly. It wasn't normal. With all the bad blood between the two houses, it just wasn't done.

But what did Harry truly care for "normal"? His entire life, so-called "normal" people had bullied, taunted, and kicked him around. And for God's sake, Harry Potter was done with being normal, with doing what was expected of him. He'd gone into Slytherin, defying all expectations. Now he was going to defy the natural order of things, and unashamedly flaunt his friendship with two Gryffindors. He forgot all about prolonging the moment when Malfoy would find out. It didn't matter anymore.

So, he shot a furious glare in the direction of Draco Malfoy, and then proceeded to grin at Hermione. Finally, he cast his eyes towards Neville and smiled at him too. Neville's eyes lit up, and he gave a broad smile in return, as if motivated by Harry's example.

The reaction was priceless, from both the Slytherins and Gryffindors. Even Harry's Slytherin allies were looking at him in surprise, but it was a look which held more intrigue than disgust. Dean and Seamus's mouths gaped open in shock, and Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil reacted in the same fashion. Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle looked so appalled at the turn of events that Harry almost laughed out loud. Ron's gaze was flitting between Harry, Hermione, and Neville, his blue eyes wide in astonishment.

The tension in the room was so thick that it could have been cut with a knife. However, before anyone could react further, the classroom door flew open with a bang, and Professor Severus Snape stormed in, his black eyes glittering and a truly unpleasant expression upon his sallow face.

"Settle down, settle down," he sneered as he surveyed the students, who had all snapped to attention at his entrance. For now, the exchange between Harry, Hermione, and Neville was pushed to the backs of their minds, but Harry had no doubt it would reemerge once the lesson was over.

"Now, there will be no foolish wand-waving in this class," Snape intoned in a silky drawl. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making."

Despite the animosity that had already developed between Snape and Harry, the boy instantly realized how much passion the Potions Master had for his subject. When he spoke of being able to teach his students how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death, he saw Ron, Seamus, and Dean roll their eyes, thinking the speech was full of melodrama. Harry conceded the point, but how was he to know those things couldn't be done? There was so much he still didn't know regarding magic.

But then, right after Snape said this, he threw out an insult, saying they would only learn if they weren't the usual dunderheads he had to teach. Wow, what a great way to get us to learn anything at all, Harry thought sarcastically. Insult us before we even try.

Then, Snape went down the roll sheet, and when he inevitably spoke Harry's name, his eyes glittered with malice as he stared him down. For an instant, it looked as though he was going to comment further. But after a silent staring contest that seemed to drag on and on, Snape looked away, and moved on to the next name without saying anything more.

"Today," Snape drawled once he was done taking attendance, "we will be making a simple boil cure potion. The instructions are on the board. Begin."

Harry felt completely out of his league as he collected the ingredients he would need for the potion. Tracey helped him with this task, and Harry was sincerely grateful. He was quite ruffled by the fact that Snape hadn't explained much about how Potions actually worked, or the finer aspects of making them. He just expected them to brew a potion on their first day, and it was plain to see that several students felt the same, especially Ron and Neville. Neville, in particular, looked terrified.

Harry returned to his seat, and got to work. Tracey was in the seat directly next to him, and they shared a cauldron. They made a good team, and she gave him advice as the lesson dragged on. Harry was sure that he would have started to relax if not for the fact that Snape began prowling around the room, peering into cauldrons with a sneer plastered to his face, his large, hooked nose and greasy hair only making him look more intimidating.

"That's pathetic, Weasley. You have no skill, Thomas," Snape snarled as he looked into Ron and Dean's cauldron. "Do you honestly call this a potion? You will not succeed in this class if your efforts are this appalling. Evanesco." He waved his wand, vanishing their potion. He stalked to the next cauldron, leaving a speechless Dean and a livid Ron, his ears growing as red as his hair. He had many similar comments for the other Gryffindors in the class.

When he reached the cauldron where Malfoy was working with Pansy, Harry was not at all happy to discover that the blond was right. Snape actually took the time to praise Malfoy's work, calling it a stellar effort. The smugness Malfoy now radiated practically oozed off him, making Harry supremely annoyed.

When he reached Harry and Tracey's cauldron, he stared into it, and Harry could see it was taking every single modicum of effort for Snape not to make a comment, and he wondered what in the world was holding him back. His glare spoke volumes, though, and his robes billowed behind him as he stalked away. Harry and Tracey exchanged puzzled looks; what was going on?

He was steps away from Neville's cauldron when his potion exploded spectacularly, and Neville was drenched in the warm liquid. He moaned in pain and distress as boils appeared all over his arms, hands, and face. More of it seeped across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes.

"You idiot boy!" Snape roared in fury, staring at the melted cauldron with an enraged, ugly look on his face. "You complete fool! You added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire. Have you no sense, you stupid boy? Finnigan," he snapped at Neville's partner. "Take him to the hospital wing immediately."

Neville, who was now in tears, was led out of the classroom by Seamus, who looked livid at Snape's treatment of Neville. As the class wound down, Harry felt the same way. For a second, he had heard Vernon Dursley instead of Severus Snape. They spoke in the same cadence, and Harry was not going to let a friend of his suffer the same treatment he had had to put up with for ten years.

So, as the students packed up their things at the end of the lesson, Harry glowered at Snape, almost daring him to react. To his frustration, all Snape did was glower back at him with equal venom, but he refrained from commenting.

What happened after he left the classroom ... well, he should have expected it. It was now time for break, and Harry, Tracey, and Daphne headed back to the Slytherin common room. What they had not banked on was that upon their arrival, Malfoy, Zabini, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle stood just inside the entrance, not moving a muscle. They had gone in ahead of Harry and the others.

And Harry had barely taken a breath when Malfoy pounced. "We need to talk," he sneered.

Harry drew himself up. He knew what that look on Malfoy's face meant all too well. He felt that same sense of recklessness that had kept seizing him ever since his meeting with the Sorting Hat.

"Fine," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Tracey and Daphne took up spots on either side of him.

He was ready.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I still do not own Harry Potter.

Hey everyone, and thank you so much for the reviews.

I'm sorry about the typos in the last chapter. Once one of my readers pointed them out, I puzzled on what to do. I am typing this up on my Iphone, and because I'm blind, I use a screen reader. Sometimes, it doesn't clue me in to when I make a mistake like that. But I discovered a way to spell check, so I will be able to fix those mistakes from now on. I want my work to look good when it goes up on this site, so I apologize again.

In regards to Harry being friends with Gryffindors as well, don't worry. I do plan to make events extremely different from canon. Harry being friends with Neville and Hermione will lead to some interesting situations, especially because he has allies in Slytherin as well. There will be, hopefully, a unique dynamic in his circle of support.

As for Snape hating him on sight, I made his hatred more pronounced than in canon because he didn't expect for the son of his worst enemy to be Sorted into his house. Even in canon, I think Snape dislikes him instantly though, especially when he makes the unnecessary comment about "our new celebrity". But in this story, it is definitely stronger. But I have plans for how they will grow as characters, and I hope you enjoy where I will take them.

Please enjoy this chapter!

Xxxxxxxxxx

There was complete silence in the common room as Harry and Draco stared at each other, neither of them willing to back down from their positions. Crabbe and Goyle continued to stand rigid on either side of him, and their poses gave off the impression that they would attack Harry at any second. But Harry, being used to these kinds of tactics, had learned not to give in to them. Even so, he felt fear and adrenaline flood his body, because no matter how used to it he was, the anxiety would grip him in its hold and wouldn't let go until the confrontation was over.

"So," said Malfoy, drawing the word out in a lazy drawl. "You were Sorted into Slytherin, the most esteemed and the proudest house Hogwarts has. But within less than a week, you go making friends with our enemies?"

Harry almost laughed at the melodrama of this statement. "Our enemies?" he scoffed. "Really? Do tell me how that's the case."

"Are you really this ignorant, Potter?" Blaise sneered, walking a few steps nearer Harry. "Do you not know any of our history?"

"Yeah, I do," Harry retorted with his own attempt at a sneer. "But why shouldn't we try to change it so we can get along better?"

Malfoy opened his mouth in disgust, but Pansy spoke before he could. "Don't even bother, Draco," she said in a voice laced with poisoned honey. "The Sorting Hat made a mistake. He's a lost cause who should've gone into Gryffindor."

Harry felt a coldness seep through his skin. There had been so many instances this week when he'd thought the same thing, and to have Pansy speak this out loud sent a jolt through his system. But his resolve grew again as he said, "You're wrong. I was put in Slytherin, so that's what I am."

"Well, you're doing a fine job of it," Malfoy snarled. "Those self-righteous, goody-two-shoes Gryffindors, who think they can do no wrong. They think they have the high moral ground for every situation. They sit there in their ivory tower, and I should have known you'd want to join them."

A peculiar feeling swept through Harry as he saw an angry flush creep across Malfoy's face. Like so many other times before, he hated the way the blond Slytherin was going about this conversation, because posturing and intimidation rubbed him completely the wrong way. Harry wasn't going to bow down to anyone, least of all someone his own age. But, in a part of his mind that had made itself known several times this week, he found some truth in Malfoy's vehement statement. How many times had Harry been looked at with scorn and fear because he had been Sorted into Slytherin, and wasn't a vaunted, saintly Gryffindor like so many people had expected? Gryffindors weren't perfect, either; they could be just as hypocritical and narrow-minded as any Slytherin. But Harry also acknowledged that Malfoy was being a hypocrite, too; after all, he was coming off as a bullying, spoiled brat that numerous people wished to stay away from.

Trying to keep his voice level, Harry responded, "You're one to talk, Malfoy. You can't even confront me without your goons here to back you up." At that statement, said goons cracked their knuckles, the looks on their faces almost comical in their absurdity.

Daphne and Tracey, who were standing on either side of Harry, looked at him with respect. Malfoy saw this and shot back, "Don't you talk about Crabbe and Goyle that way. It looks like you've got two little girlfriends that are backing you up as well. My, my, my." Pansy snickered with mirth, and Crabbe and Goyle's smirks widened.

Harry saw the two girls blanch, both looking supremely annoyed. He understood why; they might have been backing him up, but they were adopting a very different stance than Crabbe and Goyle, who looked like they would lick Malfoy's boots if he told them to. Daphne and Tracey, however, were closely observing the situation, taking stock of every word that was said and allowing Harry to be in control without trying to intimidate anyone.

Malfoy's last remark was so pigheaded that Harry decided not to respond to it. The more the other boy said, the more flashbacks Harry had of Dudley. In those situations, ignoring the taunts and jibes was Harry's way of handling the altercation. He wouldn't let himself be riled, no matter what more was said.

There were several moments of silence, and Harry took stock of the rest of the room. The remainder of the students in attendance were riveted to the scene, a range of expressions covering their faces. Some looked intrigued, as if they were analyzing who would win the argument. Some looked disgusted by Malfoy and his cronies' behavior, while others were looking at Harry as if he'd grown a second head. Others looked bored with the whole scene, and were whispering to their friends.

Then, an older student broke Harry out of his thoughts. He looked as though he was one of the sixth or seventh-years, and the look he gave Harry was one of complete contempt. The words he spoke were directed at Malfoy, but Harry knew they were meant for his ears alone. "Why do you bother, Draco?" he said, his voice full of mockery, gazing at Harry as though he were nothing more than a failed experiment. "Of course he'd be soft on all those Muggle-loving Gryffindors. After all, his mother was a filthy little Mudblood," he spat.

The temperature in the room suddenly seemed to lower several degrees as a range of reactions rippled through the students. Both Daphne and Tracey let out tiny gasps, and from somewhere in the midst of the students, someone said, "Oh, you did not just say that, Whitmore."

"Oh, yes, I did," said Whitmore, smirking in a fashion very similar to Malfoy, but the expression looked even nastier on him than on the blond. "Potter is an embarrassment to our house, and he'd better learn that now."

Harry looked around the room, confusion apparent on his face. Mudblood. He had never heard the term before, but by the way it was spat out, Harry knew it was something derogatory. He knew there were many words that witches and wizards used which Muggles didn't, and from the reactions of some of the students, Harry knew this was one of them, and it honestly sounded like a swearword. The fact that the words "filthy little" were placed in front of it were another sure sign that it meant something extremely insulting. Even without knowing what it meant, Harry felt himself bristle at once; he couldn't stand to hear his mother being maligned again. All his life, his aunt and uncle had reiterated the fact that his parents were no-good, freakish drunks who'd gotten themselves killed in a car accident and landed the decent, hard-working, normal Petunia and Vernon Dursley with their unnatural, waste-of-space son. When Harry had been introduced to the wizarding world, he'd been told that his parents were really heroes, and had sacrificed themselves to keep Harry safe. Now, his mother was being insulted again, but Harry didn't even know what it meant.

Tracey, with a look of deepest apology on her face, whispered in Harry's ear, even though it looked like the last thing she wanted to do. "It's a really nasty slur that's used to describe Muggle-borns, or witches and wizards born to Muggle parents," she explained. "It means they don't belong in our world, and that they have "dirty blood." You-Know-Who and his supporters were famous for using it all the time."

Harry felt the blood drain from his face, and a surge of hot, volcanic anger roared to life inside of him. And he decided, then and there, that he'd had enough. How dare this Whitmore jerk say such a thing about his mother! How dare he imply that she was worth nothing! Harry felt his heart pump fiercely in his chest, and a new surge of adrenaline flowed through him as his hands balled into fists. Almost without conscious thought, his feet were moving, and he was making his way through the crowd and over to Whitmore. Through his haze, he somehow realized that the room had gone abnormally quiet as its occupants held their breath, wondering what move Harry was about to make.

As he neared Whitmore, the older boy never lost the superior smirk he was wearing. He was so sure the younger boy would lose his nerve, and would save his own skin by not confronting him. Well,, Harry thought as fury continued to pound through his veins, if he thinks that, then he doesn't know me at all. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Daphne and Tracey were trying to make their way over to him, but surprisingly it was Theodore who held them back. He said something to them that made them hesitate, even though they gave him mutinous expressions. But Harry currently couldn't care less about what was being said. All he wanted to do was give Whitmore a piece of his mind.

Harry came very close to the other boy; they were almost nose-to-nose now. In a voice dripping with venom, Harry spat, "You don't talk about my mother that way, Whitmore. I'll tell you that right now."

Whitmore let out a snort of derisive laughter. "Oh, Potter," he chortled, his whole body shaking with it. "You truly are a soft, sentimental fool. If you want to make it in Slytherin, you'll have to break that habit. Your fame won't get you out of anything here, that's a fact. And don't act like you're so high and mighty. You didn't even know what the word meant until one of the other little ffirsties explained it to you!"

"Well, the poor bloke was raised by Muggles, after all," Pansy chimed in, her voice loud and discordant.

If possible, the atmosphere in the room grew even tenser. "Is that really true?" demanded a student who looked like they were in their third or fourth year. "I thought that was just a rumor I'd been hearing!"

"No, it's true," Zabini smirked. "Potter told us himself on the first night here!"

"Merlin's beard," gasped the other student. "The defeater of You-Know-Who was raised by Muggles? There were so many wizarding families who would have taken you, including mine!"

There were several other exclamations of this nature. Others looked completely blindsided by the news, and yet others looked like they wanted nothing more than to say, so what? Yet others looked revolted that someone so tainted could end up in their noble house. The room was very much divided, but Harry could see that the greater number of students really didn't care where he came from. For that he was grateful, but the annoyance at the others' antics still roiled through him, as well as the rage at the foul word his mother had been called.

"Yeah, I was raised by Muggles," Harry bit out, his cheeks red. "Tell all the newspapers, I really don't care." The instant the words came out, Harry regretted them; how did he know that someone wouldn't take him literally? But he shoved it to the back of his mind hurriedly; there were more important things to deal with right now. Facing Whitmore again, he continued, "If I ever hear you talk about my mother like that again, I'll ..."

"You'll do what?" sneered a girl who was standing next to Whitmore. Her hair flowed smoothly down her back, and her eyes were cold as she assessed Harry. "You won't have the guts to do anything. If you continue your friendships with the Gryffindors, you'll turn out just like them. All they do is talk, talk, talk, but they won't act. The vaunted Gryffindor House isn't so brave after all, is it?"

Harry suddenly felt an unnatural calm fall over him, smothering all his senses. He barely knew what he was doing as he got right into Whitmore's face. Despite the unusual feeling he was experiencing, his heart was pounding so hard that he thought he would collapse at any moment. All he knew was that he was tired of being powerless. Enough was enough. He thought things would be better when entering the wizarding world, and in many ways, it was true. He had made friends, and was adapting well to some of his subjects.

But in other ways, things were exactly the same. To most of the school, he had been Sorted into the house of evil, and he was forever tarnished because of it. To some of his own housemates, he didn't belong in Slytherin, and was considered a soft-hearted, idiotic fool. His mother was no longer an unnatural, good-for-nothing freak, but now she was a filthy little Mudblood who shouldn't have even been allowed to belong in the wizarding world.

And so, without thinking of what consequences his actions would have, his arm swung out, and caught Whitmore directly in the face.

And it felt good.

The blow had been delivered with such force that Whitmore, with a flabbergasted look on his face, fell to the ground holding his bloody nose. Shocked gasps rang around the room, and the Slytherin prefects, Austin and Felicia, stormed over to Harry. They both looked shocked and furious at the same time; it was plain to see that they hadn't thought Harry capable of such an action.

"Harry Potter," Felicia snapped, a fierce scowl on her face as she grabbed Harry's upper arm. Austin walked to Harry's left side and gripped his other arm. "You are in a world of trouble."

"We'll be telling Professor Snape about this incident," Austin said, glowering at him. "Slytherins do not act like Muggle hooligans."

"You will go to your dormitory for the rest of the morning," Felicia growled. "We do not care what your name is, or where you come from. This kind of behavior is unbecoming of anyone from Slytherin house."

Harry kept his mouth shut, but he was sorely tempted to argue the point. Why was it that he was being punished for defending his mother, while they were letting Whitmore get away with using a slur against her? And why were Malfoy, Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle allowed to get away with their despicable attitudes?

"Do you hear me, Potter?" Austin almost yelled, his grip tight and bruising as he and Felicia began to march him out of the common room and to the stairs that led to the boys' dormitories. "How dare you act like this in front of our whole house."

"Malfoy's right," said Felicia, the expression on her face frosty and unforgiving. "You're no Slytherin. The Sorting Hat's losing its marbles."

And as Harry looked around the silent common room, he felt the first stirrings of shame begin. What had he done? He had completely let others rile him up, like he'd sworn he would never do, and he had proceeded to show himself up in front of an entire roomful of people, some of whom had been looking for a weakness and had now found it. He tried to garner the expressions on the many staring faces as he was led out of the room, but for once, he couldn't surmise what people were thinking. Even the ones who had looked at him with intrigue before were now wearing tight-lipped, closed expressions.

As Austin and Felicia marched him up the stairs without letting go of his arms, the anger and defiance began to leech out of him, to be replaced with trepidation and a touch of fear. If Professor Snape was going to deal with him, Harry knew the results would be far from pleasant. And he also knew that Professor Sprout, whose class he had next, surely wouldn't be at all happy when she discovered the reason for his absence.

As Harry entered the dormitory, Austin and Felicia shot him a last matching glare of disgust before the door was slammed shut, leaving him feeling as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach.

God, what on Earth had he been thinking? And what in the world was going to happen now?


End file.
